52/417-418: Antics
Apr. 26th, 2026 12:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphEarly Sunday morning I woke to the sound of rain on the roof. It was a surprise, as I hadn't checked the forecast for a couple of days, and had forgotten that rain was predicted for early this week. But I don't think it was expected before Monday. Here it is, or was, as it is clearing up now, and probably won't be back. Spring is as unreliable as my brain.
Saturday, if I recall correctly, didn't amount to much. I ate a sandwich for dinner, then slept, or did those two things in reverse. Not important, I'm sure. Today, as yesterday, I ate an overly sweet substitute donut for breakfast, then went to have slice of cake only to discover it has been invaded by ants. It was expensive cake, so I picked the ants off and ate it anyway. I don't think any ants remained, as I didn't taste any formic acid (ants are spicy as hell, as I discovered at six, when I let an acquaintance talk me into tasting one.)
Anyway, picking ants off of a piece of cake is the most exciting thing to happen here in a long time, so I guess I should be grateful to the now-dead formicidae? Somehow I'm not, though. I found the bit of rain more enjoyable. I'll save my gratitude for the clouds that brought it.
Sunday Verse
by Ted Kooser
Long ago we quit lifting our heels
like the others—horse, dog, and tiger—
though we thrill to their speed
as they flee. Even the mouse
bearing the great weight of a nugget
of dog food is enviably graceful.
There is little spring to our walk,
we are so burdened with responsibility,
all of the disciplinary actions
that have fallen to us, the punishments,
the killings, and all with our feet
bound stiff in the skins of the conquered.
But sometimes, in the early hours,
we can feel what it must have been like
to be one of them, up on our toes,
stealing past doors where others are sleeping,
and suddenly able to see in the dark.
Saturday, if I recall correctly, didn't amount to much. I ate a sandwich for dinner, then slept, or did those two things in reverse. Not important, I'm sure. Today, as yesterday, I ate an overly sweet substitute donut for breakfast, then went to have slice of cake only to discover it has been invaded by ants. It was expensive cake, so I picked the ants off and ate it anyway. I don't think any ants remained, as I didn't taste any formic acid (ants are spicy as hell, as I discovered at six, when I let an acquaintance talk me into tasting one.)
Anyway, picking ants off of a piece of cake is the most exciting thing to happen here in a long time, so I guess I should be grateful to the now-dead formicidae? Somehow I'm not, though. I found the bit of rain more enjoyable. I'll save my gratitude for the clouds that brought it.
Sunday Verse
Walking on Tiptoe
by Ted Kooser
Long ago we quit lifting our heels
like the others—horse, dog, and tiger—
though we thrill to their speed
as they flee. Even the mouse
bearing the great weight of a nugget
of dog food is enviably graceful.
There is little spring to our walk,
we are so burdened with responsibility,
all of the disciplinary actions
that have fallen to us, the punishments,
the killings, and all with our feet
bound stiff in the skins of the conquered.
But sometimes, in the early hours,
we can feel what it must have been like
to be one of them, up on our toes,
stealing past doors where others are sleeping,
and suddenly able to see in the dark.
