March 05, 2008

The Cobweb




by Raymond Carver

A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck

of the house. From there I could see and hear the water

,and everything that's happened to me all these years.

It was hot and still. The tide was out.

No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing

a cobweb touched my forehead.

It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turned

and went inside. There was no wind. The sea

was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.

Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath

touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.

Before long, before anyone realizes,

I'll be gone from here.



While not old in the strict sense of the word, I am old enough. A friend was over the other day and exclaimed how young I look in a wedding photo. Wrinkles and one or two gray hairs have shown up. Poems like this and thoughts like Annie Dillard's, "How you spend your days is how you spend your life." are sober reminders that we are all simply passing through. How does this impact me? I don't know other than to say it reminds me. Take pleasure in small and everyday occurrences. That warm cup of coffee. The smile of Jonah on the playground. The first cold breath outside.....

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