The gibbous moon in the west cast a waxy luster, a lambent elfin light reflected and ricocheted through the vast dusty void of space. Stars and planets dazzled my eyes, some reflections, some generators and creators of their own glow. The air was clear and cold at three in the morning and I stepped outside into the cold stillness. I imagined I could see, not directly and not out of the corner of my eye but only out of the barest perimeter of my vision, the mountains to the west lit by the moon's refracted silver. We call it "west" as a means of taming direction and equating distance, while we're hurtling at an unimaginable speed through the dark. One tiny spinning ball of clay we call Earth, held together just by the centrifugal force of its own spin, and held in place in the universe by a star we call Sol. All bodies in motion.

I have been waking and wandering lately late at night. No light but the moon and distant streetlamp illuminate my prowls through the house and yard; I rise in the dark and tread softly in the dark. Floorboards creak and sigh and settle again. The screen door groans halfway throuh its swing as I open it, and above my head by the door frame I hear the ripping sound of spiderweb torn asunder.

Each night is the same; the spider builds in the evening and I rend in the night. I have seen the small black body dipping and rising, eight clever spindles twisting and drawing there in the space between the door and the screen, trailing the finest silk painstakingly and with serious intent. The shape of the web is a circular funnel of silver that reflects moonlight but looks dull grey in sunlight. Moths, mosquitoes, and mayflies attracted to the porch light in the evening end up as small grey shrouded husks discarded on the door jamb beyond the thresh-hold. Something about a spider hidden in the door's corner feels like good luck.

I stood on the porch until my bare feet tingled and my flesh felt chilled by the cool night air. The dogs patrolled the corners of the field, noses to the ground and tails flagging high as they trotted. The rain and clouds passed and the scent of damp earth, wet grass, dripping leaves, early spring fills my head, a sweet perfume.

The vastness of the heavens stuns me; the spider web's intricacies intrigue me; the common elements of design despite the size and distance and the space between remains incomprehensibly mysterious. Einstein said God is subtle.