THE TINY TITAN

Cracked. Scattered and lost. Pushed away by the rend in the path. The little ant was out searching. The dedicated soldier marching in the wild. I wondered what it was that caused to navigate so. His road was rough and covered with gaps and spidery cracks. Why was it that it came this way?

All around him the people moved, swarming this way and that, lines of motion moving back and forth, interwoven in a mad plait of disharmonious imprecision. The people avoided the path of the ant; the large concrete square was uplifted and jutting. The cracks made an angry area that the busy people automatically avoided. Yet into this grey tundra he moved, an intrepid explorer going where the gods would not. Unphased by the thunder of footsteps that bombed all around.

The little ant was safe in this land of canyons. He moved about the rough surface with impunity. I guessed that the ever-present desire to serve drove him on. Must gather, must provide must go out and bring back for all. But why this way?

He was small black and shiny, with little multi sectioned antennae, switching and swaying, searching and smelling. His legs were as thin as hair but more nimble than a gymnast. Sturdy and strong these little pistons move with incessant precision, and the little ant glided over the many clefts and ridges of his microcosm.

With an infallible sense of direction and a perfect sense of purpose he moves, onward to his goal, now finally revealed. There it sat, like treasure at the end of the rainbow, a fresh piece of chocolate doughnut.

The people, dressed in their suits and business shoes moved on with the same obvious purpose and unknowing similarity. They were grey and coloured, not at all smooth in motion or texture.

How did the ant find the crumb? It was relatively miles from his home, and certainly nowhere near where I saw him start. Yet with uncanny precision he had basically made a beeline straight for it. Over hill and through dale his motion was exploratory but insightful.

The little ant may have observed the giants around him, wondering as I wondered about him what it was that made him move this way and that.

The icing covered prize was in all dimensions twice his own length yet with one deft grab he hefted the bulk over his little armoured head. He turned at once and headed home, back across the wasteland toward the tree planted on the side of the road. Pistons pumping and antennae switching the tiny titan strived for the welcome darkness of his tiny burrow.

Those around him all the gray people continued on their way and left him to his own miniature devices. Packages carried and loads lifted, a courier wheeled his trolley, impending crushing doom. At the last second steering around the motion defeating cracks, where the little ant continued unhindered.

Finally, after navigating around the shattered remnants the footpath, hefting it’s treasure, the little ant disappeared down the edge of the planted area. A small tree planted on the busy street, surrounded by a patch of dirt. Once there he came home to a heroes welcome as all of those from his city came out to greet him. Running around and looking at the prize, patting him with their antennae, congratulating him, and finally leading him back into the borrow, prize in tow.

The people moved on not talking to anyone, just moving this way and that. I could not help but wonder if they would be greeted as such when they returned home this evening. What awaits us in our dark burrows?