PPS

I killed the spider.

James wouldn't stay away, and though it isn't necessarily the man's job to deal with bugs, I felt it was my dharma and not Sophia's. Sophia, Kali bless her, is such a kind and compassionate and loving person that she was nearly beside herself, feeling bad for me (and my intended prey) in this unfortunate no-win choice. The spider, for her part, sensed what was coming; though she had endured daily visits from curious onlookers without so much as stirring in her web, on the Fateful Morning when I lifted the rusted water meter cover, she immediately began to run...

but you can't outrun Death, or Raid, and soon the deadly dark jewel of an arachnid writhed among the cast-off silk strands and insect corpses of her own death-dealing, and, with merciful speed, writhed no more. Before spraying I apologized and said a mantra a couple of times, so the black widow might have a good rebirth... which maybe she's had by now, two weeks hence--maybe her nimble legs now twitch in a finch's egg or amble their obedient way through ant tunnels... maybe her little dandelion soul blew over the road and over dusty vacant lots into a gray silk sac between fence wires, from which scores of baby spiders now burst into summer's fireball birth...

some to die in a day, some to spin webs of their own, some to mother the next meteor-spray of spiderlets to spread silk throughout the land... to adorn branches and fences with deadly, lovely strands... to weave the future...