Grass spider

September 8, 2024: lunchtime, Lyman Woods
There was a grass spider by my feet, but I had no idea it was there until it raced from the narrow plain of its web down into its funnel, where it disappeared into the dark. That flick of light at the periphery of my vision—the trace of something live disappearing—where Brooklyn’s paw would have been if she were with me and if she were the kind of dog inclined to walk alongside, is what made the spider apparent. Had it stayed still, I would not have noticed it at all.

Short’s aster and elm-leaf goldenrod were in bloom. Calico aster stems were dotted with white-tipped buds. Inflorescences of stout wood reed were pendulous throughout the forest: in the wet soils alongside the buttonbush swamp rimmed with swamp white oaks, in the eastern white oak uplands, along the trails all the way down the slope, where the shade is deepest between the trails. Joe-pye weed achenes gone gray were still adhering to the plants. Crickets were humming and purring. Cars were racing up and down Highland Avenue on a Sunday afternoon, a third of a mile west of the spider who was hiding, momentarily.

She reappeared abruptly in the shadow of the funnel. I could not tell if she sensed that I was there. I was out of her direct light, but the shirt I wore was yellow and likely cast an odd-colored reflection. She moved hesitantly, came just to the event horizon, then raised her front legs at me as though in defense, like a boxer. Perhaps she was only waiting for prey. Like she understood that something was there and, not knowing what kind of threat or opportunity I might pose, was set to strike, fight back, or retreat. I leaned in a few inches. She twitched and was gone again.

A grass spider’s web is, I read later, not sticky at all. The spider compensates by dashing after her prey when it bounces off the web. How fast? I don’t know. I read that grass spiders are “very fast,” like “lightning,” but I don’t find an actual velocity. Someone must have figured this out. She appeared again, no more warily than at her first entrance. She seemed fearless, up to tangling with whatever, if she needed to. There is nothing too big out there for me, she seemed to think. I will catch it and I will stun it and I will eat it at my leisure. For a grass spider, there is no thought of a squashing foot or a swat from a magazine.