letting go of charlotte

My sleep abruptly halted at the bellow of a container ship's mighty fog horn.  Wet walls of cloud held to the rocky beach and like a nightmare's beast, the vessel cloaked itself in the gray sheets of dankness only to haunt my morning with an echoing cry.  
I threw on my long coat and grabbed my cup of black coffee to march up the hill into this ghostly mist.  Immediately my eye caught a spider's web twinkling with what looked like fluid filled diamonds.  As one experiences the Queen's jewels, I stood in awe of the delicate beauty and intricate patterning of this woven preciousness.
September's webs are no less a spectacle than the glorious Orcas passing by the nose of the point.  Quickly, I realized that in every bramble and fern infinite magic could be witnessed. 
I jumped back into a reality evoked by the classic childhood story of Charlotte's Web and as I walked up the hill, my thoughts wound nostalgically into themes of letting go, impermanence, and acceptance of change. 
Charlotte's Web scared me profoundly as a child.  In growing up under Vashon's shield of innocence and safety, I had an immortal's understanding of life and love that named change as a formidable enemy.  Loss wasn't an option if you played fairly and gallantly overcame evil. 
But as years passed and black and white chivalry proved a fallacy, I began sewing my own tapestry of understanding about love and letting go.  I no longer built castles.  I started crafting a sense of stability out of the intangibles of my heart.  Out of presence and acceptance.  Out of forgiveness and love.  My sense of safety has grown abstractly and vastly as a result.  My ability to withstand storms and villains is far more grounded than it was.  And I no longer need an island to keep me from the harsh reality of humanity. 
Before returning home from my morning's walk, I spotted one last web on the fence facing our porch.  The spider clung beneath the railing, sheltered from the wet drops.  She looked content and calm.  I exhaled and she drew her delicate legs close.  In her strength and tenacity, I inhaled a sense of my own.