Walking the cobweb gauntlet

Dusk last night, this tiny Arachnid was just beginning to spin its web from one thorny, rose bush stem to another in the garden outside my kitchen window. It was almost impossible to photograph because of its fast movements - this was one of those times I wished I had an SLR. Although it cast its net in the hope that it would catch some insects, I'm afraid it appears to have been unsuccessful because the web is empty,  I guess we all have days like that in which we work hard, but nothing much comes of it.

Might there be some obscure bliss living like a spider, operating solely from instinct, repeating the same actions each day over and over again? Would we humans even desire that kind of bliss? Perhaps  it's not bliss at all, for even spiders have drama, they can be caught in their own webs (though this is rare) and although they very rarely fight other spiders, they will if called upon to do so.
Everyday when I go out, I walk what I call, the cobweb gauntlet, for strung across the bushy path from my backdoor to the front gate are copious spider webs that  you only become aware of when the sticky, silken threads hit your skin. Walking this cobweb gauntlet is a bit like some life events. You can't avoid  them because you can't see them coming and so you just have to wear the consequences.