Ants. Darn their industrious hearts.
Sorry it’s been so long since I posted.
That goes to anyone who reads regularly but also to me. Summer and work-related tasks have womped me up my undiagnosed-ADHD head.
But every now-and-then something makes me bury my todo list deep in my muddy gray matter and blog.
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This morning I was sitting on the back stoop drinking my coffee. Thinking on the day. Saying prayers for those who need comfort, healing and wisdom.
Which of course, all apply to me as well.
Tuning out the incessant hum of lawn service machinery, I was mediating, on life and my strong cup of joe.
When I spied movement below the steps.
It was an ant. But not a normal ant. This thing was teensy-weensy. Smaller than a grain of sand.
One thousand of them might fit into a grain of sand.
It was trying to haul what looked like a wing or something of a fallen insect brother.
An object about 1,000,000 times its size. Now this is nothing new. Everyone has watched an ant struggle with something much larger than itself.
But this was different. This wing-thingy was so large and this ant so abnormally small. Maybe these microscopic ants are everywhere all the time but they are so tiny I’ve never seen them?
The pavement it was navigating is old and rough. I hate to walk on it without shoes. And this is a girl who would rather go barefoot than in a free pair of gorgeous Manolo’s.
The ant would move a mili-meter than come to what surely was a huge mountain for it to scale — with this huge wing.
WHY would it do that?
HOW could it do that?
I who suffer from being pulled this way-and-that. Constantly veering off task. What could I learn from this extraordinary sight?
Worker ants follow a scent trail back and forth to their underground catacomb.
Okay. It’s an ant. It’s hardwired to follow a scent and move mountains.
What’s the difference between that ant and I?
Size for one.
More than that, that little s*ucker doesn’t have emotions. It has a one track mind.
GET the HUGE insect part somewhere.
How does a menopausal, scattered-brained female turn off her emotions?
Follow the scent to her laptop and get her revised story in to the editor — in a hour. Turn then immediately to the blog post she’s late to deliver and finish that. Run up to Athens to pick up a daughter then come home and train for a triathlon that looms in three weeks.
Fix dinner, shop for dinner. Or maybe I should reverse those last two?
Godspeed little creature. For you have surely accomplished more this morning that I.
