Eight Legged Stroll

It's breaktime and I'm laying on my back with my head propped on my backpack watching a spider crawl around a tall blade of grass. I hate spiders. They're one of the few things that make me wonder about the existence of a God. Yet, out here I have the sense that I am the intruder, not they, and as this particular spider doesn't seem to have me on his wandering agenda I leave it be.
I'm surprised to note how calmly I watch this spider as he maneuvers around the uneven ground and plants that to him must be like skyscrapers. What must he think I am? Or does he think?
The breeze is light and the temperature comfortable in the shade. We've just eaten, my brothers and I, and all of us are lying in a patch of green grass under the sprawling branches of a tree on the edge of the meadow. I think they're asleep.
Normally I would be sleeping too. But not today. The grass is too green to be missed.
I look back at the spider, now crawling over a dirt clod and I think of all the things I've seen this summer with my head so close to the ground for so many hours a day. I think of all the little lives played out on a micro level under foot. How far does a fly travel from its birthplace in its lifetime? Has that spider ever been out of the meadow or outlying trees?
The dragonflies down by the river are irridescent blue and purple, gold and black. I've seen their long wings like rice paper beating the air above a ripple. Do they fly against the wind? Do they sleep?
I look up all of a sudden, remembering that spiders can come from above as well as below. I cringe thinking what it would be like to open your eyes from a nap and see a spider dangling directly above your face. Man, I hate them.
As far as I can tell there are no spiders dangling above me or my brothers. We are safe for now.
I took a Human Anatomy course three years ago. My teacher spoke of the different levels at which the function of the human body plays out: Molecular, Cellular, Tissue, Organ, System, Body (if I remember correctly). Each level can be observed by metaphorically zooming in or out of the body and seeing what's going on at that level of detail. At every level there's almost an infinite amount of detail. And each detail zoomed in on has itself an infinite amount of detail.
It's like the meadow. From a distance you can't discern the blades of grass. The entire meadow looks completely blanketed in green grass, but when you get closer you see it's not as lush as you thought before. There's patches of dirt, tan colored weeds and even rocks. Then you lay down in the meadow and the longer you lay there the more worlds open up to you. There are a billion things going on in that meadow, a trillion lives being played out, albeit simple ones. The basic struggles for survival, for food, for shelter are right there on the meadow floor and you'd never know it. You'd never know it unless you laid very still, maybe while your brothers are sleeping, taking in the detail of a leaf, the feel of the earth, the progress of an eight-legged stroll.