13.07.2015 Views

The Uninvited

The Uninvited

The Uninvited

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oof had lost a few tiles, and a dead sheeplay on the beach. Otherwise, there waslittle sign of the weather’s passing, savefor the sparkle of salt borne by the wind:coarse crystals winking on the slate roofof my cottage and on the granite boulder.My living-room smells of damp wool andwood smoke. I’ve put logs on the fire, andfrom time to time air pockets in the barkdetonate like gunshot. It’s already autumnup here: spider season. Because of thisyear’s wet spring they are numerous andhuge, with long legs and bloatedabdomens. <strong>The</strong> structure of each cobwebis the same, but every spider has its ownstyle, like handwriting. Sometimes I sitand watch them at work, single-mindedand fanatical. I have to tear myself away.

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