The Oarsman

by Zubin Mathai

The worker reached the tall grass and dove in. Even though she heard no buzzing behind her, she still ran left and right, zig-zagging and crashing through the blades until her legs turned numb. Her body told her to rest, but being still would bring images she didn’t want to see, so she kept going. It was minutes later that she collapsed in a heaving pile to the ground.

  No tears came to her eyes, even though she knew her friend was dead. She stared at a green stalk in front of her, bringing her head close so that it filled up her vision. A connection formed years ago, a home in a friend, even when she had no other home, had been cruelly shattered. Soon, the grass lost its color, the sky its tones, and even the sun lost its brilliance, and yet the worker still only stared, now at the dirt beneath her crumpled legs.

  She did not see, a little ways ahead, and towering above the grass, a rocky outcrop rising as a cliff above the land. On top sat an owl, with its brown sheened feathers trimmed with white, and its amber eyes like two large moons within two suns. The owl had been staring into the distance, as motionless as the breeze-less plain, but then it sensed something. The faintest beating of a tiny heart drew its attention, and it turned to look towards the tall grass.

  With a rush of flapping wings swirling grass around the worker, the owl flew in for a landing. The worker didn’t care. She barely glanced at the owl towering over her, choosing instead to blur her eyes and wait for the bird to grab and swallow her down. The owl looked for a moment at the little ant, then spoke in a rumbling warble. To the worker, the vibration of that voice felt like the earth itself was moving ripples all around to caress and soothe.

  “I see it coming,” said the owl. “Four, three, two, ah here it is, and now those friends that were keeping me company up there will continue their journey.”

  Exactly when the owl finished speaking, a wind came in from the West, sending waves along the grass, and then rushed up the rocky cliff and over its top. When it reached where the owl had been standing, a twirling mass of pink petals was grabbed and spun into the air. They danced with the winds for a few happy seconds, free from the ground once more, and then floated down the backside of the cliff.

  When the owl noticed the worker barely registering that beautiful dance of pink, it spoke out again. “Why have you given up on your quest?”

  The worker only shook her head slowly, not wanting to summon energy from behind her numbness to remember language to answer.

  “Okay, fine,” said the owl, still with its soothing tones, and looking towards the cliff. “I have to return to my perch to continue my job. I could easily bring you up there, but I am not allowed to interfere in these things. So, I will leave it up to you. If you want to stay here, know that that wasp will eventually find and kill you. If you want to see something different, then climb the rocks and find me.”

  With a flurry of twirled air, the owl took off to ride thermals to the cliff-top. In its absence, the worker noticed, behind her numbness, that the owl’s stern calmness was suddenly missed. She crawled to the top of a blade of grass and stared at the cliff, how high and rocky it was, and frowned.

  There was nowhere else for her to go. The West was only the past, where dead friends and no homes were. The North and South were more of the unknown, where winds went to die. The East held the promise of the secrets of petals, but even that was not the reason the ant began crawling towards the cliff. She only wanted to feel the presence of that owl again.

  “I’ve never seen an ant climb so well,” said the owl, as the worker reached the top and walked towards it.

  The owl then returned to staring off into the distance, towards the West. It’s irises grew large until the amber of its eyes was pushed to black, two giant discs sweeping back and forth.

  “I see everything from up here,” said the owl. “I have the best eyesight, for I see beyond shapes and colors. The West is the past, and the East is the future, so now, as I look to the West, I see a pair of ants leaving a destroyed colony in the shadow of a patio. I see them finding helpers along the way as they trek drought-stricken lands. I see a wasp chasing them, and I see them finding a twisted paradise at the bottom of a creak-carved canyon. I also see, a little closer, a sacrifice from one friend for the other.”

  The owl looked at the worker, waiting for a reaction, but the worker was still only staring numbly and unfocused. A gnat buzzed the owl’s head, and then others came until a small swarm was filling the air with a gentle whine. The owl smiled at the bugs, nodded to them, and they flew off down the back of the cliff. The owl turned its head fully around so that it could stare towards the East.

  “Now I see your future,” said the owl. “Do you want to know what I see?”

  The worker only shook her head slowly. “I don’t care anymore.”

  “I see something wonderful,” said the owl, ignoring the worker.

  “Can you kill the wasp that killed my friend? Can you kill it if it comes this way looking for me?”

  “I’m sorry, little ant,” said the owl. “My job is not to interfere. Time is my father and mother, and I report only to them. I look to the West and East, to the past and future, to make sure things are in balance. If something is missing from one direction then I look to the other, to make sure a wave is there rolling to flow back to level.”

  The worker’s eyes refocused, and now the rocky grays beneath her became sharp and mesmerizing. She did not understand what the owl was talking about, but she still felt its calming presence float over her like a gentle blanket.

  “Can you tell me why the wasp is chasing me?” she asked.

  The owl spun back to the West and paused for a moment. It ruffled, plumping up to a round, feathered ball, before shaking off that shape and returning to normal. “That is an odd wasp, an aberration, or perhaps a sliver broken off to prick the hands sanding woods of time.”

  The worker was getting caught up in this owl’s cryptic answers. She climbed a stone to get a better view and looked to the East and then the West.

  “What if something doesn’t add up? What do you do?” asked the worker.

  “It’s never come up,” said the owl. “I’ve never once seen time not balance things out. Perhaps not for individuals, perhaps not for you, but for life itself things always sum up to something perfectly balanced.”

  The owl fluffed up again and then shook off its wings, sending a comfort of warm air to the worker. “All this staring at the equations of the ages has made me wise,” said the owl. “So I have some advice for you, little ant. Head east because you have no choice. Life is an energy that paints the world, and we creatures are lucky because it also animates us, while binding us to time. Walk to your future because you have no choice but to live out what is meant for you. All I can say is, in your future, you will find your home.”

  The worker stared to the East, to where the petals from up here had flown to, but her motivation was all dried up. “What if I don’t go east. What if I stay right here?”

  “Right here,” said the owl, “on this cliff is the midpoint of time. If you stay here with me, in your world the wind would not blow, and the sun would not rise or set. Nothing would change. You would not age or die, but also nothing in your life would be different. This mood of yours, this emptiness you now feel, will paint your days forever.”

  The worker felt the numbness inside trying to settle in, trying to make itself at home, and she did not like that feeling.

  “To help you in your decision,” said the owl as it turned back to the West. “I will let you know that I see the wasp coming.”

  The image of that wasp’s face, so cold, angled, and lifelessly staring, spurred the worker to run. Even though frightening images of the wasp easily came, images of the soldier’s death did not, for they were just beyond a darkness she did not want to look beyond.

  She left the owl and began scurrying down the backside of the cliff. At first, the way was easy, a gentle slope of dirt and sand, but then the drop-off to the rocks began. These rocks were not connected, but rath
er spires of reddish sandstone, with inch-wide gaps to certain death between each. The worker jumped a few of the smaller gaps, and each time in the air, she could not help but look down into the shadows, not fully caring if she made it or fell.

  The further she went, the amount of swarming gnats increased. They swirled in the air, bringing a wall of buzzing, and in some sections, they were thick enough to darken the sun. Before the worker committed to the jump across the next gap, a gnat landed next to her and whispered.

  “Hello. I heard from another gnat, who heard from a wise owl, that there is an ant who needs help. Even though the owl cannot interfere, I can, so please look to your left, where there is an easier jump.”

  The worker looked to where the gnat was pointing with tiny legs, and she saw the gap between those towers was much slimmer. She ran to that side and easily made it across. After the next five rock-hops, all encouraged by whispering gnats, the worker began feeling something different. It was a deeper vibration, prickly and sharp, and she knew the wasp was approaching. She spun to look, and through the swarm of black, she could see a hint of yellow. She froze, teetering on the edge between two sections of cliff, and from where she stood sand and pebbles tumbled into darkness.

  A gnat hovering nearby saw the worker’s terror and flew in a little closer. “Don’t worry,” said the gnat, “I will tell my friends.”

  Moving through the swarm, a ripple of whispers began, and as it moved it increased in size, fanning out like fingers on a growing hand. When it reached the section of sky where the wasp flew, gnats there began swirling faster and faster, until the wasp was blocked by a near-impenetrable wall of pestering bugs.

  This gave the worker time, and she picked up her pace, jumping from cliff-piece to cliff-piece. When she finally reached the ground, the worker knew the gnats could not hold the wasp forever. A flash of a daydream was already showing the wasp killing countless gnats just to make its way through. In front of the worker was a small clearing bowing down to the majesty of the cliff, but beyond was something interesting. Stretching as far as her eyes could see lay a matted tangle of thorny weeds. They were shouldered so tightly that the worker knew she would be invisible within, and so she ran up and dove in.

  It wasn’t long before she heard the familiar buzzing overhead, and she knew the wasp was flying back and forth in search. She stepped around stalks and between thorns, then looked up, relieved that if she could not see the sky then the wasp could not see her. She kept to the thickest parts of the tangle, and when a thorn grazed her side she stopped in her tracks, thinking she heard a voice. She looked at the thorn, leaned a little closer, and a faint whisper flitted to her senses.

  I heard from another thorn, that heard from a gnat and an owl, that an ant needs help. Please keep to the densest parts of these weeds, forgive our sharpness, and avoid any clearings.

  The ant did quickly come to a clearing, a sandy circle that no weeds could grow in, and she hugged the perimeter to keep within safety. A noise from the clearing grabbed her attention, however, and she inched closer. In the clearing was a hawk, its lean body standing proud as the master in this moment. Its beak was sharper than even the surrounding thorns, and its eyes were focused to the West, to where it had heard a buzzing. Determining that that sound was no threat, it looked down at the squirrel under its foot, where five talons were clamped around it.

  The worker could see the look of terrorized defeat on the squirrel’s face, as it lay there with a trembling snout, and she knew that that same look was hers less than an hour before. With the whispers of the thorns egging her on, the worker began walking away, but a little chirp from the squirrel stopped her. She turned, and in its eyes, she saw an energy.

  That silent energy from round, brown eyes, seemed to be a magnet searching for its pair, an energy cleaved off from a perfect wholeness. That stare from the squirrel found the worker’s heart, tugged on it for mercy, and the worker could now plainly see that the squirrel’s desperate ache to live was the same as her own ache for home.

  Against the whispered advice from the thorns, and as the buzzing of the wasp grew louder, the worker went to work. She circled behind the hawk and began chewing at the weed stalks, apologizing to each as she did. Soon, thorned stalks began falling into the clearing, with many slapping the back of the hawk. At first, the hawk only jumped from side to side, but as more stalks fell it was startled enough to fly away, leaving the stunned squirrel behind.

  The squirrel righted itself and checked its wounds, then ran towards the weeds to make its escape. It paused at the clearing’s side, turned to the ant that had saved it, and smiled. The lost energy in its eyes was replaced by something, and it was shared through the air into the worker’s mind. It was an energy of thanks, of connection, of life recognizing life, and it made the worker smile back.

  After an hour, the worker reached the edge of the field of weeds, and the sharpened green let in blue and amber from up ahead. When a buzzing erupted she froze in place, but it stopped as suddenly as it had started. She darted her head around, trying to spot the wasp, and finally, as a smudge of black against the green, she saw it sitting on top a nearby weed. She crouched behind a stalk, and so far the wasp did not see her. It sat there, resting its wings and polishing its stinger as if it had no memory or care that it had recently killed a precious ant.

  The worker went far off to the side, back into the thicker tangle, before slowly re-emerging to the edge of the weed-field. The wasp still did not see her, so she decided to put one foot out into the open. As she did, the wasp froze in mid-clean, with one of its legs still resting on its gleaming stinger. It took off with a snap of wings and fierce buzz, and the worker immediately dove back into the weeds.

  When the buzzing stopped again was when the worker felt most terrified. She spun around, primed her lone antenna, but could see nothing. A thud landed behind her, and she felt the vibration of six running legs through the matted mess. Heading into the thickest part of the weeds, she crawled with all her might. She zigged and zagged, grabbing stalks and using her momentum to half-run and half-fling herself forward.

  At one point she stopped, trying to calm her heartbeat so she could pick up the vibrations again. She thought she felt a rhythm behind her, the faintest vibration of another heartbeat navigating the tangle, and quietly she chose to whisper out.

  “Why are you chasing me? Have you not taken enough already?”

  She listened for a response and nothing came except a shifting of weeds, as the vibration slowly moved closer. The worker backed up, trying to move as delicately as she could, and thought she saw a splash of color right before her. She spun and began running again, at first ignoring the whispers of thorns offering to keep her safe with each of their prickly scratches.

  It was only when she paused to catch her breath that one of the thorn’s voices was a bit more clear. Go right here, back to that thinner section, and listen for help.

  The worker scrambled to the right and picked up her pace. She reached the edge of the weeds, where they met a field of shorter grass and dirt, and stopped to gather her courage. A new vibration was reaching her body now, a vibration unlike anything she had ever felt. It was a blanket of motion, soft when a part was focused on, but a throbbing wrapping everything when the whole was felt. She looked to her left and saw a wondrous sight. A migration of snails was approaching.

  There were hundreds of the shiny, inching creatures, and each caught sunlight in slightly different ways. Every shade of gray shimmered out for attention, and vibrant blues and greens even danced up from curled shells. The drumming of their slithering eclipsed the whisper of thorns, and even the sound of the wasp catching up could no longer be heard.

  When the front of the wall of snails reached the worker, most did not even acknowledge her, but one smaller one off to the side turned and smiled. “Hello,” said the snail, “I heard from an injured squirrel back there, who heard from a thorn, a gnat, and a very impartial owl, that an ant needed some help. I
assume it is you?”

  The worker quietly nodded, still in wide-eyed shock at the number of snails slithering past to shake the ground.

  “Good,” said the snail. “Glad to make your acquaintance. Come into our midst and hide in our numbers.”

  The worker stepped forward, carefully making her way around the sea of waving antennae reaching out to greet her. She crawled over shells and stepped over slimy trails until she got to the center of the march and began keeping pace. She looked ahead and behind, to the left and right, and all she saw were snails. Bringing her head low, she spoke faintly to one beside her. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

  The snail smiled and spat out the leaf part it had been chewing on. “Hello ant,” it said. “We gather in numbers sometimes, and I’m sure ants are the same way. We gather like this, when animals aren’t looking, because we love to walk with life at every chance.”

  When the snail saw the confused look on the worker’s face, it continued its explanation. “Usually it starts with one snail by itself, munching on some vegetation. It is happy and well-fed, happy with the warmth of the day and simplicity of the moment. Then it gets caught up in a dance. It feels the swirls of life all around, that unseen energy that animates everything. It lets itself be carried by that energy, becoming a single wave floating over the ocean of creation. The freedom of that snail attracts others, and soon we are hundreds, just walking through the day, letting life do nothing but express itself.”

  The worker had nothing to say, no comment coming to her mind, but she noticed that her march still matched the pace of the group. She scanned around and could feel something else, something bigger was picking her pace and direction, and so she blurred her eyes and fell into it. She felt safer than she had ever felt, as if a slimy, slithering home had come to find and embrace her, to dance with her more subtly than those petals danced with winds.

  A buzz from overhead snapped her out of her dreamy surrender, and she focused again on the world of separate shapes. Up above, she could see the wasp buzzing over, flying back and forth over the carpet of snails. She crouched down but kept on walking, and the nearby snails moved in closer to cover her.

  The wasp flew high to get better views, and then flew low to inspect every black spot that could be an ant. Its buzzing went from the sound keeping it aloft, to a louder, angrier version, and the ant knew it was getting frustrated. She heard it dive, and she heard snails cry out, as stinger bounced off hard shells or mercilessly stabbed softer heads.

  A large snail moved towards the ant and told her to stay close, and then it leaned its rippling neck and let the worker climb up underneath. Even though the snail, like the sea around it, was moving so slow, the sliminess of its skin was hard to hold on to. As the worker heard the wasp get close, she felt herself slipping.

  She did not know, nor see, that further ahead, at the front of this massive migration, a wounded squirrel stood at the edge of the grassy field and whispered to the snails in front. Like a calm wave across agitated water, that whisper spread silently through the ranks, until the snail the worker clung to smiled and nodded.

  “Nature just whispered a suggestion to us,” the snail said. “We are going to split off into ten branches to keep that silly wasp guessing.”

  At the edge of this grass plain lay an expansive mud flat, stretching far off into the distance towards plains and trees. Some of the snails turned to keep to the grass, while some ventured into the mud. In all, ten columns formed, each picking a random direction, and they did it with no leaders, no commands being barked, just waves of the ocean of life choosing to break on their own, to stream off in directions as random as a breeze.

  When the worker saw the wasp chose one of the other fingers to follow, and saw it disappear into the distance, she let go of the snail she was riding and thanked it for its protection.

  “No worries,” said the snail. “Nature and time are sometimes so caring, so all-encompassing, that they become uncaring to the individual, but we snails, like other animals and bugs, don’t mind sometimes making a choice to help.”

  The worker left the column as they continued their march through the mud, for she saw trees far ahead and knew those would offer more safety. Covered with their slime, the snails had an easier way through the mud than the worker. Her little legs were getting stuck, and she’d have to yank them up with all her might. She made her way slowly, as tiny sucking sounds accompanied her steps, and did not notice that farther away, on some rocks, three sunning lizards took notice.

  When that familiar buzzing returned, the worker stopped. She saw the sun up above and knew its glimmer was giving too much light to everything around. She could see shininess in the mud’s moisture and all across her black body. She quickly rolled over, coating herself in mud, and gathered more to paint every last bit of her.

  She stayed still, covered in the wetness, hopefully the same color as everything else, and never felt so cold in her life. She tried to stop her shivering, tried to calm the fear that layered just under the mud, for she could see the wasp slowly fly closer. The wasp floated for a moment and then dove down, stabbing the mud with its stinger. It shot back up to another hover, its face showing rage when all it had stabbed was a black bit of mud. The worker was so focused on the wasp that she had not noticed the lizards approaching.

  With flicking tongues and slithering bodies, the lizards stepped slowly through the mud. They were also having a hard time through the stickiness, but their spreading feet and better strength allowed them to make steady progress. They were attracted by the buzzing of that tasty wasp hovering close to the ground, and that speck of mud-covered black that had just been walking.

  The worker was motionless, and with her eye the only thing clear of mud, she could see the wasp inspecting everything that might be her. She knew the wasp’s instinct was telling it that something alive was close by, and she cursed nature — the same nature that had just helped her — for gifting such a perception to all living things.

  As if the wasp wasn’t enough, she finally felt the slither of vibrations from behind and caught sight of the approaching lizards. She looked up at the sun, the only other thing she could see without moving her head, and implored it for help. All it did was shine down a vacant smile.

  A second stretched beyond reason finally passed, and the worker could no longer stop her shivering.

  Just then, a gray shape skirted in from the edge of the mud, and the worker saw that it was the same squirrel she had previously saved. It was an animal of higher order, and so it stepped smartly through the mud, picking the less wet sections before bounding across at full speed. First, it darted past the two wasp-fixated lizards, and its motion scared them towards the wasp even faster.

  Then the squirrel ran towards the final lizard, the one heading towards the worker, and it gave it a nip in passing. As the squirrel bounded away towards the trees, that lizard twisted into the air, landing back down with a wet slap. It shook its head in beady-eyed annoyance, then raced off to join its companions. Now all three lizards were chasing the panicked wasp.

  Seeing the squirrel’s footprints, the compressed circles of dryer mud, the worker stepped in them and began following their lead. If she had felt cold before, she felt even worse now, as the wind from her running was taking the last of her heat. When she got to the edge of the mud flat and stepped onto un-sticky dirt, the squirrel was nowhere to be seen, so the worker collapsed to her side, shivering and alone.

  “Hello,” came a voice, and the ant looked up and saw nothing around.

  “Hello,” repeated the voice, and the worker felt a warmth in it, a vibration that seemed to be flowing in from all around. When she looked up again, she realized it was sunlight itself — the same rays that had just ignored her — that was now speaking.

  “Ant,” said the amber glow kissing the air beside the worker. “I heard from a squirrel that just ran by, and he told me he heard it from a snail, thorn, gnats, and an impartial owl, that a
n ant needed some help. I don’t mind lending a hand.”

  More of the sunlight came down, bringing with it a tender warmth, like tens of caressing hands, and they dried the mud from the worker’s body. The mud flaked and fell, and then the sun warmed the worker back to joy. Before the sunlight returned to a voiceless shine, it gave the worker a parting gift, lighting up the forest ahead, turning greens and browns to gold, bathing everything beyond with the light of life.

  The worker crawled for minutes through the forest, marveling at how everything seemed glowing, as if on the edge of laughter. The browns of trunks and greens of leaves were more vibrant than their singular words, for they had been touched by the same sunlight that now beat from her heart. Looking at the dirt and how it shone, the worker wondered if this is what nature always looked like, and she had just never noticed.

  Her wonder was short-lived, however, for soon that buzzing that had been tormenting her returned. She spun to see the wasp land on the dirt in the distance and begin exploring. Its vision was not like the worker’s, so it could not yet see her, but she knew instinct would soon lead it towards what it sought.

  Looking up to the trees, to the canopy created from the touching branches and leaves, the ant wanted to crawl up there and make her escape. As the warmth the sun had imparted started leaving, the canopy dimmed and the shadows within began shifting. Now, her escape route looked too scary.

  She heard a chirp from somewhere up above and scanned the green to see the squirrel. It seemed to have a smile on its face, in spite of the talon-wound on its side covered in dried blood. With its tiny paw, it waved at the worker, encouraging her to climb up to it. As the vibrations of the wasp’s crawling fanned out in intensity, the worker ran up the tree to meet her saving friend.

  The wasp came straight to the base of the tree the ant and squirrel were in, and it raised its leg to touch the bark and look up. Somehow it knew, and the worker shifted to hide. The wasp’s desire to kill was fueling its instinct, and it knew its target was in this tree. With a loud chirp and angry squeak from the squirrel, the wasp backed away, but still kept its black eyes honed and focused.

  The squirrel looked at the worker beside it and smiled again, and then pointed towards the east, to where the sun seemed brighter. The squirrel then went towards the tip of one of the branches, and when the worker was hesitant, the squirrel motioned for her to follow. The worker stepped carefully, sticking to the leaves and thicker parts of the branch, and she kept her angles right so that the staring wasp below was not able to see her.

  When she got to the squirrel, it chirped out a happy squeak and then walked to the absolute tip of the branch. The branch began bending under its weight, gliding down so that it touched the tip of a branch on the next tree over. Then the squirrel stopped, waiting for the worker to follow.

  As the wasp looked up curious, the squirrel continued in this way, bridging branch to branch, tree to tree, and the wasp did not know a worker was keeping pace. Any time the wasp jumped up to fly, readying to zoom up to tree-level, the squirrel chattered angrily and ran down the trunk, scaring the wasp back down to follow along the ground.

  Soon, the ant and squirrel got to the edge of the forest, where trees stood shoulder to shoulder to stare in awe at a clear view of the sun. Leaves curled in warm comfort, branches froze in wonder, and the squirrel and ant smiled together at the brilliance. When the worker whispered a thank-you to the squirrel, it only nodded silently and disappeared through the branches, hopping back towards where it started.

  The worker peeked over the leaf she stood on and the wasp was there below, still somehow sensing that its target was now here. The worker knew she could crawl down the other side of the trunk, keep the wasp from seeing her, and then sneak into the grass beyond the forest. While she knew she could do this, she waited for her first step’s courage to somehow come.

  With a flurry of wind and disturbed branches, a hawk flew in overhead and landed on the tip of the tree the worker hid in. From its face, its sharpened eyes, and the blood along one of its gleaming talons, the worker knew it was the same hawk that had almost eaten the squirrel. The hawk spied the worker and flew down to her branch, hopping over until it stood right beside.

  “Hello,” said the hawk with a deep warble. The worker’s eyes went wide, and she didn’t respond, so the hawk continued. “I heard back there, from some tasty snails, who heard from some gnats and perhaps a wise owl, that an ant is in need of some help. I assume that is you?”

  Finally, the worker found an ounce of courage, just enough to respond, but she kept her voice soft so that the wasp below would not hear. The hawk frowned and leaned in closer, asking her to repeat her words.

  “Yes,” said the worker.

  “Do you want me to kill that wasp?” asked the hawk, pointing with its beak to the base of the tree.

  The worker peered over the edge of the leaf again and saw the wasp staring up. It felt weird to have the power of a life in her legs. She knew if she gave the word, this hawk could easily swoop down and slice the wasp in two with a talon. There was a numb spot inside the worker, where memories of her friend, the soldier, lay covered, and she did not dare look inside it. Instead, all she thought about was herself, her own safety, and weighed it against the yellow and black life down below.

  Finally, and faintly, the worker shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “I think I can make it down safely, and can then make it to those rocks at the edge of that field. If I can make it far enough away, this wasp will give up on chasing me. Please do not kill it. It has already taken too much life from this world, so no more needs to be taken.”

  The hawk frowned and shivered its feathers, bewildered by this creature that seemed to value life over survival. Then it shrugged its shoulders, smiled at the worker, and took off with a whoosh of excited air. When the hawk was airborne and the wasp focused on its flight, the worker made her move. She hurried to the trunk of the tree, circled around its other side, and then crawled down as fast as she could. Once on the ground, she raced away, keeping the bulk of the tree between her and the wasp.

  “Do you think it would ever be that easy?” came a voice, and the worker spun.

  The wasp was right there, barely a foot away, and it held the same sneering, creepy smile it did every time the worker saw it up close.

  Without a warning or another word, the wasp threw itself upwards and began churning its wings. Its buzzing started, reaching the worker with a slap of vibration, making her jump back an inch. She looked to a nearby tree and knew she could not make it there in time, and then looked to the field to her left and knew it would not offer enough protection.

  Before the wasp could reach her, however, a wind suddenly began blowing. It came to ruffle the worker’s lone antenna, and she would have giggled if not for the wasp diving towards her. The wind came again stronger, this time bringing a whisper along with it. Hello, said the wind, we heard from a hawk, who heard from some snails, a gnat, and an owl, that an ant needed some help. We have brought with us some friends.

  As the wind blew stronger, a wall of pink appeared, first over the tops of the trees, and then down to ground level, a fluttering cascade of petals. They swooped in, carried by their blowing friend, and twirled and dipped, spun and sparkled, at play with the preciousness of nature’s dance. The dirt they excited seemed happy to join, as did the leaves and branches on nearby trees, and the wind itself laughed by blowing stronger.

  The worker held on tight, as petals twirled around and then headed right towards the flying wasp. The petals swarmed the pest, circling and trapping it, and the wind that carried them spun the wasp in circles. Soon the wasp was swallowed by the dance of pink, it’s buzzing eaten by the wind, and it was brought to where the forest met the plain. There, the winds split in two, as some petals went south on one splinter, still dancing and giggling, and they brought the wasp with them far away.

  The rest of the petals, the bulk of them, obeyed the main splice of wind b
eneath their curls and floated off towards the East. As the sun above took a step towards the West, lights and shadows renegotiated deals, and something far ahead turned on its brilliance. Something flat lay on the ground far away, a disk of amber, a cauldron of fire shouting thanks at the sun for gifting it its reflection.

  All the petals heading east were heading straight for that flat spot of brilliance, and the worker was so entranced by the petals and bright, amber call, that she began running after.

  eighteen

  Love