It Wasn't a Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood
I love fall. I should clarify. I love early fall … before trees undress and nature wanes drab and colourless.
I marvel when ordinary green transforms into vibrant hues of red, lavender, tangerine, and yellow. When vegetation descends in a blaze of glory, dropping to adorn the earth with spectacular new ground cover.
When mums of various shades decorate front porches. When purple asters and goldenrod adorn ditches and open fields, waving at me as I pass by—inviting me to join them on the dance floor of life.
When scores of Canadian Geese, in perfect V formation, pass overhead, honking in unison to an unknown conductor.
The nip in the air and the crunch underfoot are invigorating.
Such was the day, a Saturday morning in early October as my friend, Judy, and I, ambled along the riverfront, coffees in hand, admiring the view. The river teemed with wildlife … cormorants, great blue herons, a night heron, common mallards, and graceful white swans.
We’d walked quite a distance when a bench beckoned us to come and sit. Plunking ourselves down, we chatted easily, admiring the scenery until … nature was suddenly not so appealing.
In fact, it was downright horrifying.
Catapulting to our feet, we stared in shock at the hundreds, if not thousands of tiny spiders crawling on the old wooden bench and yes … all over us.
The trees were not the only things disrobing now. Whipping off our jackets, we danced to the spider crawl as passersby gawked at us oddly. Checking each other’s hair, we shuddered as we stared back at the freaky bench. A question went through my mind, as it often has in life. Why did God create spiders?
Ditching our coffees, we hurried toward the car, itching, and scratching all the way.
Wait! What was on my windshield. A parking ticket? Seriously?
It certainly wasn't a beautiful day in the neighbourhood.