The late winter sunlight is dancing on a single silver strand of spider silk running from the top of the bird feeder to the trellis. It’s not visible in the picture, but I can see the changes in the prismatic colors. And though today’s temperatures are in the mid-forties, the spiders are not yet awake.
That six inch strand of silk, thinner than a human hair, has withstood everything winter could throw at it: sleet, snow, ice, 50 mile per hour winds and -20° F. temperatures. And yet, if I were to walk outside, I could snap it with a flick of my finger.
Amazing isn’t it, how something so delicate could be so strong and at the same time be so fragile? People are like that, too. The timid milquetoast no one would look at twice rises in an emergency to save the day while cool, competent, professional crumbles at something all others deem to be insignificant.
From the outside, we just don’t know who will be which.The firefighter, the critical care nurse who deal daily with life and death might collapse at one loss too many. The invalid relying on a cane or confined to a wheel chair or hobbled by cognitive delays may suddenly be a source of strength and wisdom others may lean on.
And even within ourselves, we often do not know from day to day what will manifest. Today, despite the pain in my knees I might be able to fight my brother’s dragons of missed appointments, unexpected expenses, and health care bureaucracy. But tomorrow, a simple letter announcing yet another change in the requirements for receiving the care he needs might reduce me to a whimpering mess.
Strength and weakness. We just don’t know.
Be kind.
Kathy Kexel 