I didn’t realise that spiders could jump.
It was tiny but covering huge distances for its size as I scrubbed the carpet. I was following a trail of dried muddy dog footprints that seemed to have followed the steps of the tarantella dance. As I scrubbed on hands and knees I was encountering more wildlife than I’d bargained for. This is something common only to vain myopic people like myself. As I rarely wear my glasses the carpet has always appeared to me to be a delightful green. Only now as I crawl inches from its surface do I become aware of a mosaic of patterns. They were not intended by the designers of the carpet. Instead of a uniform pale green, there is in fact a mosaic of colours: mostly shades of brown. Muddy foot prints are the dominant feature surrounded by Mondrian blocks of spilt tea and dried droplets of hot chocolate. Then there is of course the brown blobs that turn out to be the spiders that jump!
Down the chimney a demented pigeon is cooing as I reach the door.
At this lower level my short-sightedness is in for a treat. However did the door get so dirty? There are splashes of tea (my favourite tipple) that I’ve never noticed before on the paintwork. As I scrub even harder I wonder what my friends have made of me after a visit.
‘Oh yes, well she’s quite nice really, but have you seen her kitchen door?’
‘Oh my goodness. Yes. I couldn’t believe what I saw. I just had to look away.’
‘I was so embarrassed I couldn’t look.’
‘And she seems to be blissfully unaware of all those jumping spiders.’
‘I always wear spider repellent on my socks whenever I visit?
Really?
‘Yes. And isn’t it awful the way she always insists that we take our shoes off at her front door.’
‘It’s cost me a fortune in socks. I have to throw mine away after every visit. I try not to go there too often.’
‘And you can hardly hear yourself speak over the sound of that pigeon!’
I blush with embarrassment as I listen to their imagined conversation.
It’s a relief to stand up again and for the world closest to my feet to blend back into tranquil peaceful greens again, as I return to my myopic sanctuary.
There is beauty in my Monet blurred world once again.
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