In my wash basin. She, size of a thumbnail, mighty behemoth. We chat. ‘I’ll rehouse you in my garden’. Scrap of paper, modest transport to paradise. Dropped on the wet paving slab, she scurries under a foxglove leaf. ‘It’s for your best’, I say. She takes the strop. Oh Stella!
On seeing a black spider in my bathroom basin She’s like a matt black star in a shiny white sky. I name her Stella and I scream only on the inside. She’s the size of my thumbnail, a mighty behemoth in a tiny universe where scale and perspective are everything. I close the door andContinue reading “On seeing a black spider in my bathroom basin, by Britta Benson”