She decides to sit outside to
inhale the beauty of the morning,
on the steps leading up to the garden,
her favorite spot for solitude. Cats
are watching for hummingbirds
in the salvia. She scats them away,
laughing at eyes that peer at her
from the cover of greenery,
outraged to be flushed from bird-hiding.

Sipping coffee, enjoying the quiet,
her attention focuses on
the marching of ants.
Wonder blossoms, thoughts drift...
“little red ants, scurrying along,
they have such a strange life,
where are they coming from and
where are they going...”

Starting at the side of the steps,
her eyes search upwards, seeking
the route. Up to a small stick, balanced
precariouly, one line headed down and
the other headed up. There are meetings
and antenna-greetings, transferring
days tasks quickly and efficiently.
Her eyes follow as they head up
along a morning glory vine, thinking
“they could go all the way up
the short cliff on that vine
if they wanted”. But,
there, they scramble next to
a root, hanging down from a shrub,
tenuouly clinging to life. A short jaunt
across the cliff dirt to more small sticks,
caught in a jumble of old cobwebs,
zigzagging back and forth, certainly
not the shortest route, but the path
they have searched out to accomplish
their needs. They are lost in the tangle
above...

Musing on the way of ants,
sipping coffee and laughing
at cats chasing each other
in the yard, tumbling and leaping
with Nature's spirit, she
starts a new search, down
from the steps and “hard to see
in the grass”, she moves closer
to track the ants movements.
Here they head for the patio,
weaving pass spears of green
and over dead rafts of leaves,
until, the edge of the concrete
is breached. Tiny, cleared paths
in the dust of summer captures
her eyes, and her mind,
“wow, all those thousands
of ant feet have swept clean
their road, leaving dust walls
embracing their highways,"
continuing to the start of
trumpet vines base. The
ants now start their trek
up the vines twisting trunk,
diverging at junctions and
swarming up, and out, to
the tips of dipping branches
to the prize. Each long pod
of seeds have their entourage,
harvesting minute quantities of sap,
barely oozing
from ant’s mouth-nips. Gathering
their harvest and communicating by
touch, they start down the winding
way, taking sustenance back
to the culture of their parents.
Suddenly, disaster! A cat
had knocked down the small stick,
she scolds the animal
as she replaces
the stick, gently
yet firmly.

“hmmm”, she thinks,
“we are like the ants,
if you see us from
high enough up
the line of development.
And, as the ants do,
we will stop at nothing
to get to what we need,
but, unlike ants,
being Human, we can also
reach out a hand
to help any creature
that needs help
with thier path...”

Sipping coffee,
and watching ants,
and cats,
she thinks
about Life...

Erin Moen
8/14/02
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