"I wish to have the fate of an ant—nameless, dead, forgotten."

.

I walk home slow. It is in my nature to observe.

This route I have walked is one I have seen many times, yet I have been blind to it all the same.

A tree on the grassy lawn of the park stands tall, at attention—attracting my attention.

As always.

But today, I observe its roots.

The roots are the foundation which the tree stands upon, the source of its life and death, its fate and its burden.

They are large, blooming from the ground like small, sprawling hills, which give rise to smaller valleys.

In the earthy embrace of the valleys—an ant.

The ant is less than a grain of sand, only the size of a speck of dust, and I see it crawling through these treacherous valleys much larger than its own body, and I wonder where it is headed.

What purpose does this creature have in those valleys?

The question had eluded me for a lifetime, for only upon observation today do I have the privilege of contemplation.

And also upon observation today—does the ant die.

I feel pity and sorrow for the tragedy I have caused. In my observation, I have killed the ant and I have caused its fate to go missing.

It is no longer an ant.

But, in its place does bloom a creature, one who lives beautifully, bearing the intent to chase something and the determination to press onward in its life, and with such a nature, I cannot remove it from my memory.