Raindrops Keep Falling On My Web

I really believe there are things cipher would see if I didn't exposure them. The chance of that obviously is very low but Pentateuch of chance have got often been known to waver at the important diagnostic test of reality. For example, there is a statistical theory that if you gave a million monkeys typewriters and set them to work, they’d eventually come ups up with the complete plant of Shakespeare. Thanks to the Internet, we now cognize this isn’t true.

One brumous winter morning, I went walking into the marshy lands of Keoladeo National Park, a secure modesty frequented by birds from all over the place. I went looking for pelicans, ducks, Heroes and the desired Siberian cranes. It was very early in the morning, I was hoping to be the proverbial early bird and catch the worm, which, for me, ironically enough, were the breakfast hunting birds themselves. The fog was heavy and it was a long wait. So my world-weary head wandered down trivial idea forms and my eyes no longer being guided by any conscious idea went on to swan on their own. So technically speaking it wasn’t Maine who discovered these spider webs, it was my vagabond eyes. But they quickly caught the captivation of my idle head as well.

I started to wonder. It hadn’t rained. It was just dewdrops. So it must be something that haps almost mundane during these Indian winters. The marshlands thereabouts remained very brumous for most of the winters. My adjacent idea inevitably was of the spider, crouched on all eights, huddled in one corner of its web, watching the dewdrops drying out in the almost inadequate heat of the winter morning. And the dewdrops swaying gently to the cold breeze, like clothing on a clothesline, providing an dry reminder to the metaphoric H2O spilt on the best-laid plans. I wondered if the spider, with its biologically composite chemical compound eyes, could see the irony, or for that matter, the beauty that it had managed to trap in its challenging web of deceit. I went on to inquire at the powerfulness of association. Dewdrops looked so much more than docile when they rested on delicate flower petals of a pretty flower. By contrast, on a spider web, the gluttonous purpose behind the web themselves, made the glossy balls look sinister, like landmines on a battlefield. I wondered instantly if the spider could still glide across the web, or like a rash soldier, it would go a victim of its ain designings if it tried to voyage the dew-laden web.

I began to believe about the victim himself. On baleful days, the spider web would be virtually unseeable to a merry insect flitting across the heavy foliage. However, on years like this, when the web was glistening in all its glory, would the bantam insect be able to acknowledge the danger and maneuver clear from it? Or would it be mesmerized by the beauty and be drawn towards it, for after all, the insects make have got a bad repute when it come ups to spotting danger in the face of mesmerizing beauty. Even if the insect, drawn towards the pearly-white Gates of the web, landed himself knock in the center of a messy affair, would the web be still as effectual or would the dewdrops have got disarmed the Byzantine deathtrap.

A research once told me that a Carassius auratus have the memory span of three seconds, and I inquire how the respectable grouping of men of science establish it out, or for that matter, what prompted this investigation. I inquire if the same grouping of men of science could reply the inquiries that came to my overactive head on this lazy winter morning. Iodine inquire if the spider and the fly recognize the mental callisthenics they induced in me. I wonder.