I’ve done much introspection throughout my life, and have concluded that if a person doesn’t have direction than they are just drifting. Some time back, I found myself drifting on dark waters that flowed slowly through a quiet swamp. Long fingers of Spanish Moss clung to decaying cypress trees that dangled their tresses towards me. The sun hid behind a cloud and a cool breeze tussled the moss; as if mother nature chose that moment to aimlessly toss her hair aside. An insignificant insect, caught unaware of her capriciousness, fell in slow motion, from a waxen green tendril. Soundlessly, it struck the water, to die I thought.
I almost looked away. It was far too unimportant to me. But something made me look back at that tiny little creature. It hadn’t sunk below the surface of the water, instead it drifted along with me and struggled to regain a Christ like purchase on the water. It willed itself to stand on the water, or was it simply chance that it survived. I recognized it for what it was, a spider, neither good nor bad. It meant me no harm. I wondered if it lived its life as it willed, or as it was willed by some power beyond my comprehension. Was it a testament to its courage and determination, to watch it somehow scamper across the waters towards the trunk of a new tree, or was it just the way of things?
I was intrigued to see it find a new sanctuary, and climb above the precarious waters. The sun was out again. It was warmer now and the spider decided to dry out on a new tree. I drifted on and wondered if it chose to make this its new home. Or did whimsy play a part in relocating it again? I knew those unfathomable dark waters were merely a crossroad for that spider. I looked ahead, for my own shore.