Source: Google Images
On days when the sun has abandoned us, hiding behind the grey, moody clouds. Do they sit inside their hills and wonder out loud? Do they stare outside at the rain, measuring the raindrops, letting thoughts splotch all over? Does the earthy petrichor take them down the memory lane? Or are they content with what nature has to offer? It is a part of their lives, isn’t it? They dredge up foods daily, diligently build their hills, even if it is to serve their queen, only to enjoy it on days like this, no? Maybe they do take stock of things, of their bearings. They ought to sleep it off, take a day to rest or do they lament on the lost time?
When I gaze out, a gazillion thoughts fly by; some worthy of the pen, some so disturbing that I often question my sanity. I like the grey skies though. They seem like textured canvases waiting for me to scribble something. The lazy raindrops wetting the streets below and casting a temporary stain on window ledges bring a restless calmness to my overwrought senses. It brings me hope, albeit a tiny one.
I wonder how ants, unlike us, make peace with rainy days. How do they accept the sudden changes in nature that pose as obstructions? How do they not question this is beyond me! Living in their tiny microcosm, hidden in the margins of our margins, lost to the trained eyes, they carry on. Yet they lug their burden as if it was meant to be; the bigger, the better.
We want to be light, float even or better, levitate. I wonder how their humble life gives them purpose while we with our degrees are lost. How they must carry on, uncomplaining while we write, speak and feel reams and reams of sadness.
I wonder how these tiny beings, easily squished, swayed, blown away, stamped on and mostly ignored, go on and on…
I, on the other hand, stare out the window, cooking up tall tales which I may never tell.