The ants are driving me crazy again – still! Now with all the furniture gone I see them zooming all about with their random scouting. How and why do they do this? They are aimless. Alone. A solo ant traversing the landscape of what must be a vast stretch of wooden floor and the rugged terrain of deep shag throw rug at the foot of the bedd in the master.
Consider the ant? Surely ancient wisdom wasn’t meaning these stupid creatures. I find their carcasses caught in the dust balls. They are wayward and make me twitchy. I’m so ready to be free of them, but what if they travel with us when we move? I find them crawling up the edge of the boxes, on the mattress, in the bathroom, the tub, on the walls, in the sink, on the ceiling, in my bed, in the dishwasher, in the microwave… I now have little piles of them in the living room where I stomped them and pushed them together while talking on the phone with Mom. The previous generation came and hauled their comrades. These may not be so loyal. I just mashed another across the carpet, his body parts strewn across the fibers. They are like transformers, they’ll unfold and come back to life unless you obliterate them.
I begun talking to them. A niggling voice at the back of my mind says I should be concerned.
Spenc had dropped brownie crumbs near the oven. I saw this wriggling brown spot on the floor in the doorway from the great room to the entry. We often have nasty little wiggly visitors come in doors because our house is level with the ground. I braced myself for the discovery of some gross looking insect upon closer scrutiny. What I found when I got down a few inches from the floor was an ant working pushing and pulling a brownie crumb equivalent to me maneuvring an 18-wheeler across town. I stood there amazed. I’ve smashed my share of ants, ant killer. . .but my heart was touched by this little guy’s sheer determination and strength. I don’t know how far he had progressed. It looked like he was going nowhere but in circles, his tiny legs frantically groping for some traction. I leaned down and with my fingernail broke the brownie chunk in half. Almost expecting the ant to launch like one kid letting go of the toy he’s tugging on . .. now the ant was free to move, slowly and arduous still, but when I came back he and the half-sized brownie crumb were out of sight. Later that afternoon, I saw that the other big chunk was gone too.
I wondered why he hadn’t signaled for a buddy to come and help. I wondered if God doesn’t, in fact, lean down close enough for us to feel his breath, and with a thumbnail cut our burden in half. Though still extremely heavy, it is no longer impossible. The ant still looked like he was going in circles, but he knew what a treasure he had and it was against his design to give up. Learn from the ant. I hope he feasted. I haven’t seen any more today. Maybe he’s resting. Maybe he’s dead. But he brought glory in his miniscule life.
Though not exactly an Annie Dillard moment, my heart expanded.