I wouldn't hurt a flea. I'd finger a spider though.
Spiders' webs only have to be large enough to catch flies.
There are so many spiders, and their rituals, their mating rituals, their courtship ritual, can be very, very different.
Much like a subtle spider which doth sit In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide; If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, She feels it instantly on every side.
It's like the spiders are sharing an ancient secret with me, and that's why I'm going to spend the rest of my life studying spider silk.
Most spiders eat and remake their webs every night.
On more than one occasion David, in his urge to explore the darker corners of the bookshelves, had found himself wearing strands of spider silk in his face and hair, causing the web's creator to scuttle into a corner and crouch balefully, lost in thoughts of arachnoid revenge.
The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
The dreary flies, lazy and casual, Stick to the ceiling, buzz along the wall. O heart, the spider shuffles from the mould Weaving, between the pinks and grapes, his pall.
So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.
