The mission of my blog—to share all kinds of moments—is being tested already.
My intent today was to share simply a moment from a trail run—the joy of bouncing from rock to rock along a red dirt path, the freedom of my hair slipping out of its clip and flying in the wind as I ran, the beauty of a cloud that changed from fiery melon to pale blue to muted fuchsia as the sunset’s rays stroked it.
But I returned home after dark to another “moment,” to be sure.
I am phobic of spiders. There were three in the bathroom—one medium, the other two huge. After smashing them in a cold sweat, I picked my makeup bag off the floor so that none could get in it—and another big one was hiding beneath the bag, its long spindly legs stretched above and below its body in sheaves. Trembling, I killed it, too, plus the small one circling under the scales. I feel remorse for their deaths, but my terror far outweighs it.
The weather turned hot today; they have come inside, likely from under the wooden porch, to lie against the bathroom’s cool stone tiles. One is still on the loose; I last saw it scuttling under the kitchen table. So far, I’ve not seen any in the bedroom. Still, I fear it will be a night of wide-eyed moments, and a fearful trip to the loo come dawn.
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