THE ANT by Odgen Nash
The ant has made herself illustrious
By constant industry industrious.
So what?  Would you be calm and placid
If you were full of formic acid?

 

A few weeks ago as I was sitting at my desk attempting to get some work done (but really fretting about all the obligations I had that would keep me from getting my work done) I noticed a tiny ant crawling around on the wall.  This morning it’s back again. 

Famous Ant Not on My Wall #1 - Atom Ant

At least I think it’s the same ant.  From what I can recall, it’s the same size as my previous ant, its antennae are about the same length, and it’s scurrying along the same path, over and over again, not really going anywhere in its peripatetic ramblings, just like before.

My first thought upon noticing the ant again today was a worry that we might have an infestation, but I haven’t seen any others.  I then started to wonder what it was doing here, why leave the green lush yard full of wildflowers and fallen mulberries to scurry back and forth aimlessly across an expanse of white semi-gloss painted wall? 

Famous Ant #2 - Adam Ant

I thought about picking up the ant on a piece of paper and putting it outside, helping it get back to its normal routine, its real life in the great outdoors, but something stopped me.  Is that what the ant needs or what I need?  Am I projecting on to the ant my desire for someone to come in and rescue me, liberate me from the current situation that has me running about in circles and plop me into a setting where I can do the work I was created to do?  Or, like the ant, is a foray off the path a necessary part of the journey?  Do I need to wander through this wasteland for a while in order to better appreciate the path when I can get back on it?

And for the Brits #3 - Ant of Ant & Dec

Since I started writing this, the ant has now wandered into the stack of poetry books that sit on my desk.  These past several weeks poetry is the one thing that has kept me feeling connected, tethered.  The hour or so each morning I read a few poems and choose which to post and write about is the only time I feel whole.  Maybe I’ll let the ant stay for a while longer . . .