Miniscule Murder

Pulling weeds per my mom’s request.
The patches of grass had bravely grew through driveway cracks and made the cement look a little too grey for my parent’s liking.
I’m out of a job.
My mom offered to pay me.
I’m pulling weeds,
Squatting barefoot next to tiny green forests I pull bare handed.
Between my fingers I squeeze towards the roots, twist, and pull.
Dirt comes with, dusting the driveway.
This pull and toss game happens a few times.
I get to a plant that’s a little harder to pull.
I twist twice.
Not as much dirt disperses this time but what I saw underneath made me stop my plant plucking.
Ants.
Hundreds of them.
Scattering,
Hectic.
To me, the chaos was little.
It was dirt that would blow away over night
But I’m afraid I might have made those ant’s lives a lot harder.
I might have turned their night from casual to overtime.
I squatted closer,
A gaping hole where a plant used to be rooted no sits between slabs of hard concrete.
I wonder what’s underneath it all and I look closer.
At first I thought they were rebuilding, bringing dirt chunks into their home to stack the walls tall again.
But I looked again…
The ants were carrying the dirt outwards,
Digging,
Not replacing.
They were hurrying like I had buried their family.
I watched an ant climb straight up the side with a rock at least six times it’s size.
I saw the ant shake when the weight of the rock got caught on a twig,
But he kept shaking,
And shaking,
Like I shook the dirt off the roots of each plant I picked.
Like I shook the plant from it’s spot.
And I realized,
I am not just pulling weeds.
I am complicating things for many more than myself.
I could be a mass murderer and not even know it.
Those ants will be working all night.
I would help them if I could but I’m afraid I wouldn’t fit.
I’m much too big and I can’t speak their language.
Plus,
There’s more grass at the end of the driveway I need to pull before my parent’s get home.

ants

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