untiring

It scuttled across the grass. Slow, steady. Never faltering. The black bead that was the crux of its body was slowly driving along. The legs, thin, needle, insect-ish we’re driving it forward. Constantly in back and forth motion. The grass was wet, how it managed to keep its balance was beyond him. The dew sparkled in the red, drowsy morning sun. The blades of grass were crisp, the chlorophyll coloring them an achingly beautiful green. All was silent except for the silently whooshing wind. It was that strange time between the birdsongs and the waking up of humanity. Birds could travel to suburbia, but none of the other animals could. Birds had travelled to suburbia. Humans were not awake. He could smell the green, preemptively smell the waffles and pancakes that would come soon. The maple syrup, thick, sweet, his mouth watered. The gravel was cool and rough underneath him. He felt a tingling on his fingertips, what it must be like to touch the ant. Would it be still? No, it would not. But he wanted to see it bigger, no, not horror movie big bigger. But a little bit bigger. So he could run his finger across its back, feel the- would its back be smooth like an overly polished boot? Would it be rough like pebbles in the sand on a beach?

He watched as it moved tirelessly. It came across a pebble, he watched curiously, it faltered, and then went around it. Another, less faltering, it went over it. It had probably made the decision that around took too much time. And his ant was nothing if not efficient. It was not always going in a straight line. It turned, ever so slightly. He wondered if that was how they walked? People were also too close to see the bigger picture? And the vision of the near was not always the most accurate. That’s why for centuries, people thought that the earth was flat. The horizon was flat. Therefore it must mean that the earth was flat. Similarly, if they were to look at themselves from a bird’s eye view, would they see that they did not walk as straight as they imagined?

It kept moving. It stopped. He looked with renewed interest: his attention had been waning. That’s what comes of low attention spans in the age of the ten second clip or one hundred and forty character news bite. It had picked up what it had seen, and he had missed, and was carrying it on its back. He slowly edged his head closer. Upon inspection, he realized that it was a beetle. Was it alive? It was upside down, it’s legs were not moving, rigid as if in rigor mortis. Food? Probably. What a delightful creature that ant was. What delightful creatures all ants were. Resilient. Untiring. Workers of the highest caliber. It kept moving, he saw a mound in front of it. It did not stop to rest. It went inside the ant tunnel, and out of his sight.