I have to wonder about Nature.
Nature, for the most part, adapts most readily to change, even the encroachment of people. Spiders, for instance. Spiders have no problem co-existing with us. There's a pair of them that live in the mailbox at work, for instance. Both are the little black and white wolf spiders, tiny, that don't so much make a web as make little spun cocoons to hide in, and as long as they don't start reading the office's mail I plan on leaving them be.
The thing is, however, the fact of their location. It's certainly strange enough to be a postal spider, but one lives in the back corner of our rather large mailbox while his cousin the ciy spider lives in the crease of the mailbox flag.
Yes, the flag.
It's metal, bright red, and has a sort of architectural groove that runs down it's middle, which he decided was perfect for his new home. I say "he" and "his" because I don't think a woman would be dumb enough to build a home on a metal spar. What really gets me, though, is that this bug, this enterprising arachnid, which has mastered quite literally the "thinking-out-of-the-box mindset," has availed himself of a penthouse with a view. You see, every morning around 9 am I bring out the day's mail and put up the flag (and his house,) and from then to about 11:00 when the postmistress comes and lowers it, that flag is a good foot in the air. This tiny eight-legger has given himself a high-rise apartment. Literally.
So what I have to wonder is--does he ever sit on his veranda with the octaculars and look out across the soybean fields? Does he carspot on the interstate? Or does he just lay out and sunbathe during the heat of the day, keeping an eye or three peeled for the occasional fly who really has a thing for envelopes?