Here I Am.

Here I am. On the screened porch (my outdoor room) on a windy, almost-November evening at the dimming of a nearly ninety-degree day, tornadoes flirting nearby. Not as unusual here as one might think; I remember tornadoes coming through Raleigh in late November twelve or fifteen years ago…

Here I am. In the swing with a computer in my lap; I’m watching frenzied ants swarm to the sugary poison I’ve strategically placed in the middle of their super-highway, the horizontal support of the porch steps banister…

Here I am. Curiously (horribly) detached from the colony-murder I’ve begun (and will complete – no turning back at the last moment); I’m reminding myself, “Thou Shalt Not Kill,” and rationalizing my choice to rid my porch of some of the most amazing insects on the planet, feeling like I don’t ever want that amazing man who dedicated his life to ants, and whom I heard a year or two ago interviewed on NPR, to know about me…

Here I am. Reminding myself that I did ask the Devas that watch over the ants to kindly ask them to go elsewhere; I’m admitting that I didn’t give them a lot of time to leave…

Here I am. The girl so in love with the All that she can cry at the marvelous creation of ants, spiders, and the worlds teeniest snails (one of which my chiropractor found on my pants leg this afternoon, the teenie weenie thing having attached itself for a slow crawl up my britches while I sat on a patch of moss outside Angela’s door reading about elephants – my favorite animals); I’m in awe over the snail, as well as the elephants, and the juxtaposition of the hugeness of the One with the nearly microscopic smallness of the Other…

Here I am. A conglomeration of massive contradiction and confusion/confession; I guess I’m just like the rest of us hew-muns walking through this world of wonder, each of us doing the best we can at any given time. Could I have chosen to let the ants live? Of course! Then why didn’t I? It’s not like they’re in the house. (They were, of course, a few weeks ago.Took care of that, I did.) I can rationalize, theorize, close-my-eyes. But it probably comes down to early childhood. Doesn’t everything…

Here I am. Playing around with words and ideas just because I’m bored. Just because I have a cracked rib, a gift from the coughing I endured for nearly a month. Hurts like the devil. Advance payment for the ants. Bones heal themselves, though, and I trust this one will follow its destiny of knit one, purl two till all is right with the world of bone. Bone has but one choice – to make whole what is broken…

But combined with flesh?  Ah, well…  for Flesh and Bone, multiple choice: a) Welcome the ants; b) Kindly ask the ants to go elsewhere; c) Bomb the colony with deadly sweets; or d) Fill in the blank with a loftier solution (that one’s yours to decide).

Me? I’m waiting for the tornado to carry a house from Kansas all the way to the land of the Wicked and drop it upon the Witch of the South, the one who calmly lures the dedicated industrious to, a la Agatha Christie, “death by sweets.” At least the ones who supped here tonight have had a satisfying, if unconscious, last supper…

Lord, forgive me; I know what I do.

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