It’s early winter and spiders are making nests in the corners of my ceilings. They hide themselves so well, they’re hard to spot—but when I do, I’m not happy.
Now I know that all life is sacred, including spider life. And while I respect their right to be, I prefer them to be outdoors. So I fetch the step-stool and reach up to capture them in a kleenex, and gently release them onto the back porch. My husband scoffs at this ritual.
“They’ll die anyway,” he says.
“But I’m giving them a chance,” I say.