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the picnic parade

13/09/2010

The ants do not march one-by-one or two-by-two, or even in straight lines. In fact they do not march at all. In spring the army is dismantled, transformed into carnival. Blankets are laid out, baskets thrown down, and the ants shout hurrah-hurrah for the advent of bedlam. They furiously scramble, eyes pointed upwards, preparing to seize the goods falling like confetti from above. They are high on sugar and crumb, delirious with drink, jiving to the sound of human babble. Like nomads, they roam from picnic to picnic, but are manic and not without aggression. A human shoeless foot – five toes and cracked heel – stomps down hard on the ground, blocking the route. Without hesitating, the ants puncture the skin, inject bitter poison, and continue on frenzied course to scurry off with the cake. There are cries from the humans, and the baskets are packed away, the blankets lifted, shaken out and folded. The families and friends disperse. The babble and laughter dies. Yet, the picnic remains, bit by little bit, paraded about on the backs of the anarchic ants.

Find out more about this Hello Sunday story.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Allyce permalink
    23/09/2010 5:11 pm

    I love this one!! I wish I had been there

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