In conclusion: Ants are losers

Beneath Us

The firewood swarms solid
fire-red with ants drawn to dead
fish heads on spines pitched
into the pit, heads on pikes
to warn others: Beware
of bait. An endless swarm
of passers-by heed no warning,
for there is safety in numbers,
and if that's true
they are safe everywhere
from everything.

We are walking on their nest
building on their homes
and stepping on their children
as they march single file
(in so many files)
which is lucky
for if they marched en masse
we'd be swept away
the ground alive
and carrying us down
into the pit
our skulls on our spines.

Poem:
Ants are creepy. There are way too many ants. So creepy.

Observation:
Iowa is flat. Yup, this is another observation based on a bike race. Luckily, most of the time Iowa is windy, which adds some resistance and something to work with during a race. Unfortunately, neither hills nor wind were present on the course I rode yesterday, which meant it was really boring. I had resigned myself to a sprint finish, something I haven't ever been eager to do, and so something I have never really done before. Surprisingly enough, I wound up in perfect position during the run-in to the finish line, and then I had the great idea of botching the whole thing up. I swung out of the draft to come around the guy in front of me, looked up and realized I had way further to the finish than I thought. Exactly as this was happening the rest of the field opened the spring, and all I had time for was to think "Darn" as they all came by me. And that was that. Forty-something miles of racing and nothing to show for it but a ruined sprint.

Exercise:
Take an Aesop's fable--- for example, "The Tortoise and the Hare" ; "The Ant and Grasshopper"; "Frogs Desiring a King"--- and change the animals and/or the story and/or the moral at the end.

The hare crested the hill only to see the tortoise celebrating his victory. "Curse that nap," he muttered to himself. It was the upset of the century, and the other animals would never let him live it down. The bear and the monkey tossed the tortoise into the air in a happy display of jubilation. He soared practically into the branches of a nearby tree (the one to which the finish line banner had been tied) before plummeting back to earth. The experience was exhilarating, and the tortoise, arms raised in celebration shouted "Again! Again!" The hare faded into the background, anxious to avoid attention.
Now, most people would say the moral of the story has something to do with not wasting talent, or that the hare did something wrong by taking that nap. But think about the tortoise for a second. He had flown. He had experienced soaring through the trees, the wind rushing under his shell, and the weightless feeling of being unburdened. The shell didn't weigh him down. And the speed. The entire race he had moved slower than half the speed with which he had been tossed into the air. To see what he had been missing out on, what the hare experienced every day? It was torture from the moment they set him down. The tortoise couldn't return to his life of mediocrity. Back to his crawling movement, hauling his shell around at a pace slightly faster than the grass grew underfoot. Sure, the hare was embarrassed temporarily. He couldn't look his friends in the eye for a while, but the tortoise went the whole rest of his life knowing the peak had passed. So perhaps the moral of the story is that it's better to lose and know you could have won than to won and know you never will again.

Me:
On the trip to Sand Dunes we were thinking about stopping somewhere a bit further away from the park and taking some time to roast marshmallow. Normally that would be plural. You know, roasting marshmallowS. But after a week in a car at well over a hundred degrees, the term was definitely singular. What we had at our disposal was a plastic bag with a single, poofy mass that had conformed to the triangular corner in which it was stored. The stickiness was unbelievable, but we were determined to roast it or perish in the attempt. Unfortunately, we were in that unfortunate situation where the only campgrounds we looked at were priced inconveniently, especially given their lack of anything very interesting around. So we continued on, thinking that if we were going to pay twenty bucks to pitch a tent, we might as well do it right next to the park. En route, Rebecca used my phone and managed to locate an almost-unknown campground that had opened earlier that year right outside the park. In case anyone finds themselves in the area and wanting to drive a ways on a gravel road, it is located up the road to Zapata Falls. The best part was that it had no signs indicating its presence, so there were plenty of spots available. Or maybe the best part was that it was still so newly-opened that it was free. Or that it was so newly-opened that the bathrooms were clean. In any case, it was a great find.
We woke up and I wanted to make a quick go of it out to the dunes, since once the sand heats up things become a bit less enjoyable, especially if you want to walk barefoot. The thing about Sand Dunes is: once you've seen it, you pretty much get it. Yeah, it's impressive, and you should definitely hike up to the top of one of the bigger dunes (which is what we did), but upon looking at it for a while, all that's really left is to head back down to the car. Which is awesome. The trek up is strenuous, an exercise in persistence, as every step is met with a cascade of sand carrying you back toward the ground. The trek down is, well, not a trek. It's just plain fun. There is no unsure footing, so you can run as fast as you want. In fact, your feet sink in and stabilize you as you go. Balance is a bit tricky, but you can fly once you get used to it. Of course, if you're as enthusiastic as Rebecca, you get going a little too fast and the only effective method of stopping is to fall over. So it's kind of like me trying to ski. A long ride up, a short ride down, and you fall over and get snow (sand) inside of everything.
And that was about it. We headed back from there, drove late (saw some fireworks during the drive), and got back around four in the morning.