The Ant made
its way across
the
concrete.
I didn’t
want to step on it.
I hate
stepping on ants when
they are
outside doing their
Ant thing.
It seems
wrong to absently or
accidentally
end their
little
worlds just because I
wasn’t
watching where I was going.
It seems so in-compassionate.
There’s the
Ant, just going along,
working for
the rest of the colony,
and
suddenly, WHAM, stepped on
and up to
Ant heaven to be judged
at the pearly
Ant Hill by Ant St. Peter.
I always
seem to notice the Ants
as I walk
and I really don’t want
to step on
them. I want them to go
on and do
what they have to do,
just like I
don’t want to get stomped.
I think I
developed this compassion,
after the
early days of playing with
a magnifying
glass and being the
unholy
tormentor of those poor
hapless
Ants. It was shameful.
My religion
probably added to my
feelings for
the Ant, since there are
times that
we all feel like mere Ants
on this big
ball of dirt in a vast
and scary
void of space.
I try and
avoid the Ants in their
domain. They
deserve their existence
just like I think
I deserve mine. Unfettered,
un-squashed,
unmolested by soles.
Just trying
to make it to the other side
of the
sidewalk, on another summer
day.
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