The spider’s meadow

Anne begins to understand that in this forest,
almost nothing is what it seems.
And even spiders can be
so terrifying they make your knees go weak.

The path led to a second, smaller clearing, blocked by the trunk of a mighty centuries-old tree. The tree was so thick it completely blocked the way. Someone, however, had carved a large tunnel right through its middle — wide enough for a person to pass through upright. But the path wasn’t free: right in front of the tunnel, suspended by a complex system of levers and gears, hung a massive spiderweb.

Reflections on the scene

⸻ ❦ ⸻

– ❦ –

What waits at the end of a forest path? Not always magic or mystery—sometimes it’s bureaucracy. Or worse: bureaucracy with fangs.

Anne arrives at a second clearing, only to find the way blocked by a giant tree and a paywall. Literally. A hairy spider guards a massive web, a coin box gapes open like a hungry mouth, and a helpless fly pleads for her life. Welcome to the toll gate of absurdity.

There’s something distinctly adult about this setup: the sign, the rules, the dry “customer service” tone. It’s a parody of systems we all know—where fairness is a formality, and compassion has office hours. The spider isn’t evil. He’s just… on break.

Anne’s reaction is all too real: hesitation, polite retreat, then full-blown panic. She doesn’t try to fight, doesn’t argue. She runs. And in this moment, the story reminds us that fear is natural—and that bravery doesn’t always show up on cue.

Pouchy’s commentary, as usual, blends comic relief with clear-eyed judgment. The world is full of creatures who want something—sometimes money, sometimes obedience—and being small doesn’t protect you from them.

But then comes a flicker of something else. Anne wonders, quietly, if they should help the fly. It’s a small moment, easy to miss. Yet in it is the seed of courage—not the loud, swashbuckling kind, but the kind that begins in empathy.

It’s no accident she mentions Pippi Longstocking. The wish to be stronger, to be braver, is already taking root.

And while they don’t turn back—not yet—something in Anne has started to shift.