The Ants

I was sitting on the library steps enjoying the sunlight breaking through the thick clouds, when I spied a long line of ants moving along the bottom step. With childlike interest, I scooted down to the step just above them and examined their steady movement for several minutes. They marched in a straight line, one right up against the other, as if a small rhythm was being pounded out to keep every one in step. If such a rhythm did exist, I heard none. Perhaps their march was kept by a vibration in the air that only the ants were sensitive to. I decided the cause did not matter. “Sometimes one should enjoy life as it happens and not waste time dissecting the unknown,” I thought. So I sat in the gentle sunlight and enjoyed their parade. Eventually they began to disappear at the end of the step and I wondered about their destination. But their purpose was just as mysterious to me as the minute beat that kept them in time with one another. After sitting for a while, I found I could not remove the ants from my mind and so I got up to study the matter further. As I rounded the stairs, I saw a small black line descending the side of the steps and disappearing into the dark mulch. I watched as the last of them disappeared and then, with nothing left to witness, I returned to my place on the second step.
The shade had grown and the sun was spreading its warmth upon a different spot. “Ah, perhaps I can enjoy the shade as well,” I thought. While the wind shook the leaves from the trees, I imagined myself shrinking and then marching down the side of the steps and disappearing into the darkness with little or no fear. “What a joy being part of a group would be,” I thought. Then, a slight movement directed my attention back to the bottom step where I saw a small black dot wandering aimlessly. “Are you lost,” I asked. No answer was given. The little thing scurried from one edge of the step to the other and occasionally turned itself around completely and retreated from its previous direction. “What a poor confused creature,” I mumbled to myself. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t know where they went either!” I was surprised by the amount of distress in my voice. I debated whether to place the wanderer in the mulch or to leave it alone. I thought “Perhaps the other ants left a scout behind to search for the lost.” This poor ant was certainly lost. I felt pity for it and I wanted to help, but I had no idea how. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small piece of candy. After unwrapping it, I crunched it with the heel of my shoe and pushed some over to the lost wanderer. “Here you go little fella.” I suppose the ant was confused and perhaps a little frightened because it did not pay any attention to my offering. Just then a big blue Oldsmobile pulled up in front of the library and with a squeak of the brakes it stopped. Jennifer waved to me from behind the dark glass of the passenger window and I stood up with a deliberate hesitation. Once inside the car, she asked if I was going to be okay. “I hope so,” I said with a drowsy voice. Her gentle eyes searched mine for something more. “You know anything about ants?” I asked.
“They like candy,” she said.
“Not all ants,” I said while staring out the window at the shadows on the library steps. Jennifer pulled something small from her pocket and held it out in front of me.
“It’s cinnamon,” she said. I took the candy from her hand as we drove off into the dying day. I could feel the darkness seeping through the window, but I sat there with my friend unafraid.