The Ant Brigade

They march on. Little legged warriors. The buddhist within recoils at the necessity for the body to destroy their lives, so it mustn't share living space with them. I know not how else it could have ended. If only they had marched on different ground, not tunneled into my small artist's home. The invasion, the plan to combat the attack, the subsequent fatal sweep and aftermath. The silence, the solitude, the loss of life. The emptiness. The tragedy. The funeral mind. And then... it is over, for now, at least.

In memory of The Ant Brigade.