... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... prose ...

Glen Falls, North Carolina And My Friend The Ant

I sat for awhile at the summit of Glen Falls
On a cold stone, facing North
Dark blue sky dotted with fluffy, Angel clouds
All of Earth was silent here, save the water
The pungent smell of blooming Mountain Laurels awoke my memory
And my memory’s memory
The stream roared and bellowed over the granite cliff
And my cellphone choked on the clean Air
“no service”
As I sat, boots off, hat pulled down low, I felt
My own internal bars diminish until I, too,
Had lost my connection – “no service”
I nearly finished my sandwich and let my bare feet
Sink into the icy Appalachian waters
A black and orange butterfly alighted on
A nearby branch, gave me a nod, then
Clumsily fluttered away, like a drunk’s last bender
The patchwork of shadows danced all around me
I checked my phone once more
“no service”
I switched it off, for the first time ever
A single black ant bravely climbed the rock
On which I sat and quickly sniffed out
My half eaten sandwich
With no regard for me whatsoever he took a bite
And proudly marched around with his prized morsel
In any other place, I would have squished him
Like a grape
But not here
Not now
Rather, I admired his brazen persistance
And relished in seeing something work so hard
And actually be rewarded for it
When my step-granddad used to visit
He barely spoke a word
He would sit at our table with his old wooden tool box
And carefully sharpen every knife
In our house
When he left, one of us would inevitably cut our finger on Robert’s razor sharp knives
Mankind has been making blades to cut with since the Dark days
Blades to cut flesh, wood, dirt, stone
Blades to kill and blades to heal
But we lack persistence
God also made a blade
He made water his blade, and if given
Enough time, it will cut this Earth in two
“no service”
No I certainly did not squish him
Not here
Unbeknownst to me, my bars had risen and
I found myself reconnected
To him
To the breeze
To the drunk butterfly
To the Cherokee and Mohican Ghosts
To Robert’s razor sharp knives
To the lulling rush of sweet waters
I stretched my toes deep into the flow
And shared my sandwich with that cheeky, black ant
And he shared it with everyone he knew
“In Service” … Of an Ancient kind. 

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