Wonder
Sept 4 2026
I watch the procession of ants
move with surprising speed
along its wending path,
an unbroken stream
of shiny black automatons
who rarely wander
or seem confused.
Of course, I watch, but don't interfere.
While they are oblivious to me,
looking down from a distance
we could never bridge;
like an invisible God
they never want nor need.
They scurry frantically,
focused, busy
feelers twitching,
going about their business
as if there’s no stopping them.
An ant lives a purposeful life,
in service
to the colony.
Not meaningful, as I would think of it,
but at least an instrumental part
of a collective mind
focussed on survival.
There are no individuals here,
no indulgence
in existential angst
or crises of identity.
I think of the queen,
a bloated laying machine
served by her courtiers.
But in this egalitarian world
caste has no stigma
royalty no privilege
— everyone works,
everyone follows the program
accorded by birth.
Not that I envy them
— I enjoy my personhood
despite all the baggage
humans are saddled with.
But still, there is much to be said for purpose
as well as certainty.
A chemical trail, directing you.
A whole, of which you’re a part.
A place you belong
and are headed back to.
No pronouns to confuse things
— no I, he, or you
only it.
No heartache or bliss,
no wish for more.
No mercy for the sick
or succour for the injured.
And no stolen minute
that stretches into three
in which you needn’t prove your worth
or be productive;
standing quietly
all by yourself
looking down in wonder.
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