a rain looms, and i get the car back just in time. our family has moved into the house where i grew up. i am battening the french doors in the kitchen and dining room, driving the bolts into the floor and ceiling to hold them against the storm. the hindmost door in the dining room hasn't been puled away from the wall in a long time; when i swing it shut i see lumpy masses by the hinge. i wonder aloud why my father had just painted over whatever it was--dirt? debris? i realize it's egg sacs plastered to the wood.
i back away, scanning. janine and ayla are in another room. i see the spider, a big wolf. i'm trying to keep it in sight and maneuver over to the camera. if i can get a picture, i can look it up to see how to deal with it. then there's another spider, even bigger, gray, across the counter. i am up on the opposite counter trying to get a shot. the wolf is considering me. then it edges over to the gray one; i hope they'll fight and simplify my problem. then ayla strolls into the kitchen right next to the counter. no! ayla, run! she won't respond quickly enough. she'll stand there and ask me what i'm talking about. the wolf leaps! no! no!
--
eggs. mother.
backing away rather than just squishing it.
ayla defenseless from the leaping threat; my child.
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