The Steady March

I walked past the threshold into the bright noon air, stepping out onto the courtyard terrace. On the weathered cedar bench, a disciplined column of black ants was moving in quiet sequence across the sunlit grain, each bearing a tiny husk of bread. Careful not to obstruct their path, I laid my yellow blade flat along the far edge of the wood and knelt down on one knee. For many quiet minutes, I simply watched them work. Neither faltering nor straying from the line, they carried their burdens with unyielding purpose. Even the humblest among us can teach the spirit how to stay true to the course.