I came home last week to find our friendly spider newly deceased, fallen from her perch between the garage and the porch. She lay cold on her back, her legs gently folded upon her abdomen. She was a good spider. We will miss her. I picked her up and carried her over beneath the Buddha statue, under the mimosa tree. That will be her final resting place, and she will become food for something else. The huntress becomes the prey (or carcass). The ice flower images I took on my way home seemed to be a fitting tribute to this frozen beauty.
You decorated our doorway for the greater part of two years,
your messy webs blowing in the breeze after you used them to catch your food.
I will miss your shadow cast on the wall by the garage light.
I will miss your crouching presence hidden up under the eaves by day,
your bold and quick climbing by night.
Thank you for your service.
Your body will now feed our tree.