How did you learn to make your web, arachnid dear, with your delicate thread? Those in Chantilly play bobbins for years, are taught to weave lace with patience and tears. No instruction book, no word of mouth, yet you twine away with mathematical stealth. How does the knowledge pass down between, when there is no school for eight-legged-eyed things? And how did you know it was the way to a meal – the result of your art would provide you with fuel? You wrap them so neatly and pack them away, save them for rain-times when flies cannot play. It’s difficult to say ‘no grand design’ when I watch you craft your work so fine.