Antpology

*Sigh.* I love ants. Their quirks, their identities, their stories. Each one has a different story, you know. Think of that, should you ever consider squishing one. That ant had parents, friends, family, beliefs, ideas, dreams. It is most likely cared for by someone. I care for ants. The one's I've observed more than others, I suppose. At first glance all ants look the same. But once you really watch them, learn from them, truly see what it is to be that ant, it moves you. You root for that ant against any foe. If you had known the red ant before the black you would have cheered it on instead, but such is Fate.

I adore ants. The resonant boom or joyful titter of an amused ant truly brightens my heart. They're sort of funny, in a way. They bumble about, searching for this, eating that, following this, marching about so importantly. What are they doing? Building hills. Glorious hills, marvels of architecture if I do say so myself. I certainly couldn't rival them. Their twists, turns, complexities only add to their charm. Some hills are more advanced than others, but they all serve some benefit to some other ant. Of course that nasty old perspective applies again. Get to know the black ant first, and you'll loathe the red ant, who has just as much claim as anybody, if the Queen's to be believed. But you must root for someone to make it interesting. But I digress. The hills! I positively admire their perseverance. A lesser man would be appalled at their seeming stupidity. Building up hills only to have them torn down. But the ants thrust on. Is it mindlessness? Is it for lack of an alternative? Perhaps. But I'd like to think they have a utilitarian creed. One ant sacrifices his life so that other ants can build upon his legacy. If not, the ant race would die out. Which they will, in time. But they're amusing in the interim.

I cherish ants. Their dances, their wars, their dramas. Ants have dramas, you ask? But of course! Ants want glory as much as anyone. Who gets to the food first, who carries the most home, who pulls more weight. It is silly, I agree, for in the end all help in their own way, but you can't help but smile. Strong, proud ants running into gauntlets of poison, spiders, fingers, doom around every corner, just to help the colony survive. Many die in the attempt, often before they make a single positive contribution. Are they remembered? Are they rewarded? No. They're forgotten in due course. But they tried. They had a benevolent spirit, and it truly is the thought that counts. I dare say we could learn a lesson from their sacrifices.

I applaud ants. Do they ever complain to their Queen? Do they ever whine or moan or groan about how hard their lives are, how they should have better? Never. They salute the Queen, overseer and director of the whole complex operation, and bear their burden until their deaths. So persistent are the ants that I wonder if they even sleep. Perhaps I only see the best. The lazy ants are lost in their nests, avoiding anything resembling labor. But I certainly hope not. Ants believe in community, in helping one another. A wise mentality indeed.

I apoligize ants. Some are bitter that you walk upon them munching sour grapes with their faces staring straight into the ground waiting for it to open up and swallow them. Ironically, they'll only find more ants when they get there, but of course they refuse to admit it. While you toil and strive, they can only decry your efforts. Such is the grasshopper, envious of your determination and lacking it itself. Are grasshoppers born this way? I'm inclined to say yes, regrettably, but there's nothing you can do to change them. Help them when they change their minds and seek shelter from their cold musings, but don't be surprised when they leave you disgusted. They'll be back. Grasshoppers are simply no fun. They abhor games. They focus only on winning and losing, and yet each defeat is like a personal blow. They don't realize it's all in good hearted fun. Without the game their would be no drama, no reality, just a bland bored and bland formations. If no one wins there's no reason to play. But if all had fun, did anyone really lose? I really am sorry for these silly grasshoppers. They know not what they do. Let them play their mournful fiddles, humming dirges no one really wants to hear. It's the job of a grasshopper. And the job of an ant is to persevere. A place for everything and everything in its place. How wonderful this puzzle is...