“You know where ants come from?” My son sat the ground between my feet and his small, pudgy hands were streaming sand and dirt down to the ground like a human hourglass. His small face was upturned and his eyes twinkling; instantly I was transported.

[I was six and celebrating a long, successful day of noting with a lie in the grass. I was cloud gazing when I felt a scurry of movement across my forehead. I swiped at it and found it was an ant. I jumped up to see if I had rested in a mound but I couldn’t see anything. Instead, I found two dots fleeing towards the sandbox nearby.

I crawled over to their destination and found what I assumed to be the entrance into their home. The two fugitives who were approaching this shelter weren’t too far away so I decided to wait. Instead of getting home, however, the sky opened up and began to drown them in cold, wet judgement. I hummed “Carol of the Bells” to myself. I still don’t know why.]

“No, son, I don’t.” I ruffled his hair. “But I think I know where they go.”