Angels and Ants

 I thought about ants. They work so hard and industriously, making kingdoms on earth. In New Mexico, USA they seemed innocent enough, even noble, crawling busily over the high desert floor. At the time, I had traveled much and made art for over thirty years. Deep down I felt like stopping everything to simply become an observer. Watch ants work every day. Meditate.

Almost two decades ago, after my oldest daughter died, a poem came to me and included ants as a metaphor for elemental spirits of the world:

Angels and Ants

My pen tries to speak,

but the language it has learned 

is too sublime

for mere scratchings.

You taught me a new tongue—

the expressions of angels.

Alas, an ocean is between us 

which cannot be passed.

Wandering alone in a daze

I am left with the ants 

traveling over the dust of this world.

Amy and I have been living in Oaxaca, Mexico now for almost a year. For the first time in my life my home is in a place without winter. We grow flowers year around. The nearby plant nursery always welcomes us with myriad colors, exotic trees and shrubs and prices a fraction of what we would pay in the USA. Blooming rose shrubs cost 1.50 USD. Our eyes are dazzled and we make sure to smell them, to be certain of fragrance. 

Destroyed jasmine plants

I planted seven roses, caring for them, watching them slowly take hold and grow new leaves. Suddenly they were almost wiped out. By ants. Not just the roses, but many other of our trees, vegetables, and shrubs were being decimated. The jasmine plants in pots by our back door were denuded. By day I could not see much activity, but at night, by flashlight I saw legions of ants in long lines carrying cut leaves to their holes in the ground. 

The old lady, matriarch of the family who owns the nursery, when asked what could be done about ants, looked us steady in the eye and said, “kill them”.

I dug up my roses and put them in pots, then took them to my roof patio where they have revived and are producing marvelous blooms. Meanwhile, sadly I have had to declare war on the ants.

I have had to ask, plants or ants? 

Plans for the Future

It was an intangible experience when my oldest daughter Naomi, who left this world twenty years ago, came to me while I was resting to give me the encouraging message that my youngest daughter and only surviving child, Sarah, would recover from the coronavirus. 

Although I heard no words in my ear and did not see a doctor’s report, my deepest self knew what I was being told was as true as could be. Six days later Sarah texted me that she had recovered. This is the finest springtime gift I can imagine. 

A few days ago, I wore shorts and went outdoors barefoot for the first time since last autumn. One of my happiest delights is getting my hands in the earth and coming up with wriggling worms. Years ago, I traded one of my paintings for a barrel of worms that was delivered to my home so that I could have the best compost for my garden. 

The seedlings I put in the ground a month ago are coming up as plants. Here in the high desert of Santa Fe, the earth usually is rocky so it has to be amended. The worms make the best  compost from vegetable scraps we throw into a pit.

We have some flower pots with blooming plants that have only begun flourishing. Our lilac shrubs have begun perfuming the air at our back door.

The other incredible sight is seeing the seedlings of elm trees falling through the air. It can be like a snow storm—blanketing the earth. 

Nature always plans for the future.