I don't what things arachnid to become the week's theme, but…spiders are not all bad. Moreover, sometimes they produce what must be—at the very least—considered unintentional art in the forms of their intricately-crocheted gossamer webs.
When I stepped out the back door of the cottage this morning, I found this example strung between two trees in the deep shadows below the hillside. A shaft of rising sun somehow wove its way between the leaf canopy, obliquely lighting the delicate strands. Knowing how ephemeral such moments can be, I went back in for my camera, made several quick exposures, and returned to my desk for a quick upload to the Mac. The shot at the top of this post was the best of the lot—but as I looked at the result on-screen, I realized that in my haste, I'd not done the best job of choosing f-stop and shutter speed, so back out I went for a better try.
Alas, in that brief interlude, which couldn't have been more than three minutes, the web had disappeared—doubtless taken out by a flying bird. My photo opportunity was over. Such is the nature of this transitory art. It's beauty, like so many lovely things in life, fleeting, existing only in the moment. And the lesson therein is that we must always respond immediately, in word or deed, before the opportunity is forever lost.