Go To The Ant
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Written By Peter Boven
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Go to the ant lazy man, consider her ways and be wise
Who having no guide, overseer or ruler
Provides her bread in summer,
Gathers her food in harvest. Proverbs 6:6-8
What I noticed was a dark line on the floor.
In the humid pre-dawn glow
In the quiet, fragile stillness of the early air
On the cool marble in the half-light
I did not remember it from the previous evening. Had the floor suffered a 15-foot crack from the door to
the counter? From the front door to the marble kitchen counter and splitting the stone vertically as
well? My still-foggy brain wondered at 5:30am.
I had wandered into the kitchen after a restful sleep following the early-evening’s retirement of the
night before. The heat of the Philippine day and the fall of darkness at 6 had my eyelids falling by 8:30.
The neighbourhood had had peace by 9.
The thin black line had developed in the darkness. It had crawled across the stone pavement in stillness.
Its goal: the unsecured treasure on the height. Its method: a particular disintegration.
From a distance and in the dimness, the dark slash seemed solid. I came closer and discovered the living
reality. Subtle changes, almost imperceptible, awoke my imagination and it seemed a single living
organism.
The reality however, was revealed by my down-on-my-knees and eye-at-floor-level inspection. It was a
double-stranded river, a bidirectional flow of hundreds of tiny bodies, and its two currents passed each
other while journeying in opposite directions. The entering column, marched without hindrance
tentacle-to-thorax, towards their prize; the returning strand, with their burdens held aloft, retreated to
the lair.
The means by which they had discovered their target remained a mystery. Perhaps a single soldier had
sent word? Or travelled with her message to her hundreds of three-lobed, ebony, six-legged fellows?
And now the army in silent, deliberate, delicate operation dismantled the sugar-and-gluten-laden loaf.
Single particle by miniscule crumb, piece by tiny piece.
The living stripe ignored me as I investigated. Each of its members knew only the task to which they
strained. They sought the almost-sealed plastic bag, the not-quite-enclosed enriched white flour feast.
Was it a desperate cooperation, a foolish strategy to secure sustenance for the colony? Or perhaps
these robotic units acted in harmony only because of programmed instinct and had no choice or feeling?
In any case, to me it was amazing. A crumb-by-crumb dismantling. If they had had the chance, would
they have finished the loaf?
Loaf, across countertop, then the
V
E
R
T
I
C
A
L
Path and they are on the floor.
Across the marble highway. With military exactness passing comrades that march to the same silent
drum. The crumbs walked out the door and into the ground, where I lost them.
The loaf however, was too large and morning had broken. I gave up the observation and soon another
entered and swept the intruders away.
Who having no guide, overseer or ruler
Provides her bread in summer,
Gathers her food in harvest. Proverbs 6:6-8
What I noticed was a dark line on the floor.
In the humid pre-dawn glow
In the quiet, fragile stillness of the early air
On the cool marble in the half-light
I did not remember it from the previous evening. Had the floor suffered a 15-foot crack from the door to
the counter? From the front door to the marble kitchen counter and splitting the stone vertically as
well? My still-foggy brain wondered at 5:30am.
I had wandered into the kitchen after a restful sleep following the early-evening’s retirement of the
night before. The heat of the Philippine day and the fall of darkness at 6 had my eyelids falling by 8:30.
The neighbourhood had had peace by 9.
The thin black line had developed in the darkness. It had crawled across the stone pavement in stillness.
Its goal: the unsecured treasure on the height. Its method: a particular disintegration.
From a distance and in the dimness, the dark slash seemed solid. I came closer and discovered the living
reality. Subtle changes, almost imperceptible, awoke my imagination and it seemed a single living
organism.
The reality however, was revealed by my down-on-my-knees and eye-at-floor-level inspection. It was a
double-stranded river, a bidirectional flow of hundreds of tiny bodies, and its two currents passed each
other while journeying in opposite directions. The entering column, marched without hindrance
tentacle-to-thorax, towards their prize; the returning strand, with their burdens held aloft, retreated to
the lair.
The means by which they had discovered their target remained a mystery. Perhaps a single soldier had
sent word? Or travelled with her message to her hundreds of three-lobed, ebony, six-legged fellows?
And now the army in silent, deliberate, delicate operation dismantled the sugar-and-gluten-laden loaf.
Single particle by miniscule crumb, piece by tiny piece.
The living stripe ignored me as I investigated. Each of its members knew only the task to which they
strained. They sought the almost-sealed plastic bag, the not-quite-enclosed enriched white flour feast.
Was it a desperate cooperation, a foolish strategy to secure sustenance for the colony? Or perhaps
these robotic units acted in harmony only because of programmed instinct and had no choice or feeling?
In any case, to me it was amazing. A crumb-by-crumb dismantling. If they had had the chance, would
they have finished the loaf?
Loaf, across countertop, then the
V
E
R
T
I
C
A
L
Path and they are on the floor.
Across the marble highway. With military exactness passing comrades that march to the same silent
drum. The crumbs walked out the door and into the ground, where I lost them.
The loaf however, was too large and morning had broken. I gave up the observation and soon another
entered and swept the intruders away.
