Round and Round It Goes
It's darker than she expected. Only 8:30. Closer to fall now, that didn't take long. It's risky but she's cutting through the church lawn and the new concrete walkway, freshly painted. A writhing dark mound appears at her feet, undulating, ebbing and flowing at it's outer most edges. Ants. Thousands of them. Small, fluid, perpetual motion machines. So busy, so fast. All clumped together on top of each other in the middle of a huge expanse of barren concrete, in a crack. What is it that draws them to congregate at this point, this fissure in the ground? She stops, pondering how they know that this is the place, the perfect spot to harbour a colony. To forage and feed, build a compound all for themselves. In the morning they'll be gone, washed away by the overnight storm. Ephemeral. Moment to moment. The steps of the church have transformed, freshly painted an ochre~y cappuccino with too much of a gloss, ridiculously slick. An accident waiting to happen. Come Mond...