The Wilderness Between

9/13/09 4:37pm

Today, I let myself sit on the stairs and rest. Today, a Sunday, I find the stairs particularly inviting and peaceful. Few people use them, it seems, when there are no classes, and the traffic from Fifth Avenue almost sounds like waves.

It is still so green here, so shady, though soon, I expect Autumn will take hold. I look forward to the oranges and reds and yellows, but green will always be my favorite. And of course, when the leaves fall, what shall become of my ivy? I know now, that my ivy is English ivy (or Hedera helix). The leaves are bright and waxy and almost heart shaped—the ivy Dionysus claimed for the memory of his mother, Semele, and the female counterpart to mistletoe according to the English.

The ivy has already made its way up the most impressive tree in the vicinity. Oddly enough the ivy does not start until half way up which makes me think that it must have been severed at some point. But, really, it is too late: I can already see the damage the ivy is doing to the tree. The lower branches of the tree are shriveled and broken; it looks brittle for all of its thickness and height. I’m sure that in a few more years, the tree will surrender completely and die under the parasitic ivy.

Here I must stand and stretch my legs, already asleep from sitting on the steps. I also had to get away from the spiders and their webs, thick with corpses, which range particularly along the bottom rail of the stairs. One of the smaller spiders had grown interested in me, and I wanted to get away before it decided to explore this strange, large monster in its home.

I must say that I love spiders. I really, really do. They are the most beautiful, most graceful insects. I love their delicate legs, the sectioning of their bodies into prosoma, abdomen, and spinnerets. I even admire their eight eyes and glistening webs. Arachne is lucky that Athena turned her into such a beautiful insect—she could have done much worse.

However, much of my dislike for spiders comes from the fact that during my first month in Pittsburgh, I received over two dozen spider bites. (You can tell a spider bite from other bites by the white center, where the actually bite is.) The funny thing is (and this is why I respect them) I never saw a spider. I checked under my covers, between my covers, under my bed, around my bed every night to no avail.

When the problem persisted, I vacuumed and washed every inch of my apartment, but I never found a single spider. I did find pill bugs in my living room, sneaking under the alley door, and silverfish scurrying in the front window, but these are lesser creatures.

Spiders are clever. They are sneaky and make a living doing what most humans like—catching and eating other bugs. Luckily, since the cleaning frenzy, the bites have stopped. I can only hope that I’ve taught then a lesson, and that in the future, they will stay out of my bed.