"Never give up . . .

. . . never surrender!" To the people of the Gulf Coast.

It was a lovely spider web, intricately woven in the beam of my little porch. I checked on the web and its owner every morning, finding the small furry body settled in the middle of her handiwork, multiple legs curled under her. Grandmother spiderwoman - weaver of life. Native American wise woman and crone. I knew her - she had worked hard to weave something for herself - for her survival. She had spent maybe only one human-day, but maybe many spider-years. Every morning she sat, relishing her place in the middle of her world. I understood her - I was her.

Then one morning, the web was gone- possibly blown away in a wind or maybe even brought down by an uncaring hand - the woman who delivers the paper or the letter carrier. Neither understanding, or caring, how important that small bit of nature was to me, silent watcher of wonder on my little front porch. Not understanding that her web was a metaphor for my own.

This morning, late and rushing to get to work, I almost missed it. The glint of silver, sun shining off the spider thread - once again the lovely pattern I have come to love and revere as so important to the nature of things. A new place on the porch - this time on the very front- not the side - out in front for all to see. And there she sat, regal, with her legs curled,waiting for her day to begin.

Never give up; never surrender.

Rebuild and live again - better than before.