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The Spangled Web
Dust swirled round the whirling cloth: Spiders, survivors of long generations’ residence, scurried for cover. Dust mites looked bleakly at the sky. The long-promised Spring Clean had come.
One spider turned and shook a fist at the cause of all this. ‘I’ve been here a long time,’ he said, his moustache bristling. ‘I am the great Septimus! But I don’t suppose that— Aatchoo! Watch it there, yer gettin’ dust in m’whiskers —means anythin’ to you.’ He sniffed. ‘I was the greatest tap-dancing spider act ever seen. ‘S’matter-of-fact, still got m’shoes somewhere.’ He sighed, settling down and fiddling about for his tobacco pouch. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to get tap-shoes in spider’s sizes? Or those little cane walking sticks? Or straw boaters – now let me tell you about the straw boaters—’
‘Come on, Gramps,’ said a younger spider sadly. ‘We had a good run.’
‘Don’t you “Come along, Gramps,” me, Mabilene. I want to tell this young whippersnapper what for! Snapping webs as he goes, mark you. The younger generation don’t have no respect. I was here before he even moved in!’
Gramps saw the cloth duster moving towards him, though, and decided to think better of it. ‘Oh, well, maybe you’re right. Did you remember to pack m’dance shoes?’
‘Yes, Gramps, I’ve got them right here,’ said Mabilene, smiling indulgently.
‘All-righty, then! Away we go!’
Two silken trails spun on the breeze towards the open window, sailing out into the rising sun: Septimus the Great would be heard of again, just you wait and see …
The figure with the cloth duster ambled over towards the window shortly thereafter and shook the dust out onto the wind. It flowed behind the little floating figures, glittering rainbow-like in the dawn twilight.
*
A little while thereafter, what may or may not have been the world’s actual smallest violin[1] struck up.
Somewhere nearby, dewdrops sparkled on a web behind a little stage. And all around, creatures watched attentively.
Several cats sat feigning polite disinterest. Mice peered out of their hidey-holes. Robins twittered. Crickets chirruped. Ladybirds hovered. And the long grass quivered with anticipation.
Then several little feet thumped up and down (it was an open question just how many) – and a tiny ukulele started up[2]. A little old creaky voice rang out, saying, ‘An’ a one, an’ a two, an’ a one-two-three-four …’
Music filled the air. And the air itself changed, taking on that special something that places sometimes do when things are done for the love of it and life seems that bit more alive than it normally does.
Come to think of it, Gramps was thinking as he sang along to the staccato rhythm of his tap shoes echoing on the stage, it did you good to get out and about once in a while. And the creatures of and around Spinners’ Hollow certainly seemed appreciative. (Tiny coins tinkled as they landed on the stage, and several mice were throwing lawn flowers, eyeing the cats behind them nervously.)
A good time was had by all.
And for what seemed a long while after, a plaintive song echoed over the garden:
‘Did y’ever hear about the time
We went flyin’ on the breeze …
The wind flew out behind us.
It was rustlin’ in the trees …
And m’tap shoes went on tappin’,
And the spangled web shone on.
’Cos there’s one thing I knows for certain:
The dance is never over –
and the song is never done …
The sooonggg iiissss neeeeeever doooooonnne!’
And it wasn’t.
The End
[1] It wasn’t. Fleas have violins much smaller. But it makes a good story.
[2] Unless of course it was a banjo.
Published in Entertainment
They don’t make banjos that small.
Ah, silly of me. Some dust must have got in my eyes. Your pardon, sir knight.
Here’s the song of Willy the Spider, apparently written by Irvine T. (Scotty) MacGregor. It may be recalled by those old enough to remember Captain Kangaroo:
Little Willy the spider wouldn’t get out of bed.
He yawned the whole morning and scratched on his head.
You see, Willy the spider had too many legs.
He had dozens of shoes neatly hung up on pegs.
Well, early one morning while it was still dark,
He tried all his shoes on just for a lark.
He ran down the stairs with a smile on his face,
But he fell with a crash when he slipped on a lace.
You see, Willy the spider had too many legs.
He had dozens of shoes neatly hung up on pegs.
So, my little friends, here’s a lesson for you:
Don’t grumble each time that you put on your shoes.
That’s good. It’s about time that spiders got some press.
So… I’m guessing he’s named Septimus because he was born with a tragic birth defect of only having seven legs, and the Great because he overcame that hurdle to become a tap dance legend regardless?
Septimus because he was born seventh. If he’d been born sixth, he’d be Sixtus. Eighth – Octavus.
(There has been a Pope Sixtus V. Nobody has had the stones to be Sixtus VI yet.)
Yes, and Quintus, and Decimus. Don’t know that I’ve ever heard of one for the ninth child, but I get the pattern. I’m just saying seven has got to be an unlucky number for spiders.
Nonus.
This tale wafted into the monthly theme. Spin your own tale in prose, poetry, or both; there is plenty of room within the March 2021 theme: “Blowin’ in the Wind.” Stop by and sign up soon.
Interested in Group Writing topics that came before? See the handy compendium of monthly themes. Check out links in the Group Writing Group. You can also join the group to get a notification when a new monthly theme is posted.
My wife has an aunt Chin, nine in Vietnamese.
That’s nothing! My aunt has multiple chins!