Recently, as I lay in shavasana, unable to turn inward, my eyes travelled the ragged edges of the hemlock at the bottom of my garden. My awareness became filled with the sky. Upon that infinite blue backdrop, I began to discern long, delicate, gossamer white threads afloat on the air, each one illuminated by the sun. These almost imperceptible threads extended from the hemlock’s uppermost branches by a breeze my skin could not detect. At the end of each thread, a spider adrift, yet full of hope, awaited attachment.
‘Leap,’ they seemed to whisper, ‘know you will alight.’