Last weekend, early in the morning, I decided to go for a walk up the vineyard, still covered in fog and dew. I regarded the grapes – they are abundant this year – when I realized there were cobwebs literally everywhere. Hundreds and hundreds of them, absolutely intriguing. The sun was just about to break through and the dew formed little shimmering pearls on every one of those fragile spider webs, as if somebody had strung beads all over the vineyard. At that moment I felt really sorry I had no camera, it was so beautiful and I wanted to capture that moment for my friends to share. In the end I took some 'scanty' pictures with my mobile phone …
It's a pity blogger reduces the photos, because you can't really make out the single pearls of dew the way you can in the real photo. But still, it gives you an impression. And you can always click to enlarge the photos I think ...
Isn't this a wonderful time ..? The soft sun, the dew, the colours, the cobwebs, the wind and - sometimes a bit irritating - those fine strands of baby spider's webs, 'gossamer' I think they are called. I remember my grandma in Connecticut calling certain mild autumn days 'Gossamer Days' because of that, but I'm not sure if it's a common expression? These almost invisible baby webs are floating around everywhere now and when the sun is low they'll catch the light, looking like very fine strands of silvery white hair, reminding me of why the Germans call this time Altweibersommer, 'Old Wive's Summer', which – in turn – reminds me of my grandmother ...
Im Herbst
Der schöne Sommer ging von hinnen,
Der Herbst, der reiche, zog ins Land.
Nun weben all die guten Spinnen
So manches feine Festgewand.
Sie weben zu des Tages Feier
Mit kunstgeübtem Hinterbein
Ganz allerliebste Elfenschleier
Als Schmuck für Wiese, Flur und Hain.
Ja, tausend Silberfäden geben
Dem Winde sie zum leichten Spiel,
Die ziehen sanft dahin und schweben
Ans unbewußt bestimmte Ziel.
Sie ziehen in das Wunderländchen,
Wo Liebe scheu im Anbeginn,
Und leis' verknüpft ein zartes Bändchen
Den Schäfer mit der Schäferin.
(Wilhelm Busch)
In Autumn
The lovely summer has been leaving,
and with its wealth arrived the fall.
The spiders are all kindly weaving
fine garments for the festival.
They're weaving for the celebration,
with hindlegs practiced in the trade,
the veils of elves as decoration
for hill and dale and mead and glade.
Yes, thousand silver threads donated
into the wind, to turn and bend,
are softly drifting where they're fated
to an unconscious, settled end.
They're drifting toward a fairy landing
where love commences shy caress
and softly ties, with silken banding,
the shephard to the shephardess.
(Wilhelm Busch)
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