Two spiders have hung their webs just beyond my kitchen window, one directly in front of the other, between a juniper tree and a bird feeder. You’d think that with the vast outdoors available, they would have staked out individual, exclusive territories. But what do I know about the ways of spiders?

Still, a few theories come to mind. Some retail concerns like to confront their competitors. Perhaps the spiders are like Home Depot and Lowe’s, seeking to locate across the street from one another on the theory that competition would favor them both. Or, it could be a personal matter. Perhaps a feud over some trivial matter has turned them into bitter enemies and they’re perversely poaching on one another’s hunting grounds. Doubtless, they’ve strung their gossamer webs where they have because there’s a bountiful supply of butterflies and other winged prospects for dinner swarming around my wife’s nearby herb garden.

The two spiders do seem to have distinct personalities. One sits in the middle of his web, like an avaricious shopkeeper minding his cash register – an open and notorious warning: “Danger ahead!” The other is not to be seen. He awaits his quarry, hiding somewhere in the branches of the tree. Recently, the reclusive one caught a lunker-sized cicada. The poor creature frantically beat its wings, which only served to bind him more securely. Doubtless the event was telegraphed to headquarters, but even then, the spider remained hidden. Perhaps he was relaxing in his study, smoking a cigar, looking at his etchings, thinking about retirement. The next time I looked, the cicada was gone.

The appearance of this species of spiders is an annual, end-of-summer event. Somehow it’s reassuring in our world of anarchy and chaos to observe these dependable rhythms in nature. In June, musk thistles bloomed. Three months later, it’s the tall thistles’ turn to take the stage. This is part of the economy of nature: Plants show off their goods at different times, so that they all don’t compete at once for the attention of pollinating bugs.

It’s a golden time of year in the country: Goldenrod and sunflowers have blossomed. Long after the three-fingered big bluestem went to seed, the golden seeds of Indian grass have appeared. Delicate dianthus and moth mullein in early June. Blue sage and heath aster in late August. “To every thing there is a time and a purpose under the sun.”

Annual visitors such as hawk moths have showed up, flying among the Rose of Sharon flowers. Most creatures mate in spring, but dragon flies have chosen fall to mate, and it’s charming to see them enjoying sex on the wing.

Of course, it’s not a peaceful world out there. Death is everywhere. Every square foot is a battlefield. Solomon was wrong when he said that the lilies don’t toil – all the flowers are at war. But the struggle for survival takes place without the cruelty human beings seem to enjoy – the genocidal orgies, the gratuitous tortures and beheadings. So I can’t help wishing my spiders success, just as I want the kids who fish in my pond to catch fish … although I can’t help suspecting that the spiders enjoy watching their victims writhe.