To The Ants of Southern California
Recently, a tragedy beyond words has struck your world. Something which has shaken all that you know; destroying your homes, breaking apart families; taking your friends and loved ones from you and writing large in our minds the frailty of life.
The rains which have all but destroyed the ant populations of Southern California for the past week have left us all questioning what sort of God there could be up there, indifferent—hateful.
This is a time when we, the living organisms of earth, must band together. When we must forget about the barriers between us, and remember our commonalities. Our bonds.
In the face of mass death, I offer you asylum. I see from your incredibly large numbers in my bedroom that you must have already received word. I respect that we have cultural differences which I must look beyond for the sake of goodness—so I will not kill you as you crawl all over my desk, my night table, into my hat, into my desk drawer, into my socks, my bookshelf. Nor will I vacuum you all up after laying in my bed, unable to sleep for fear of you and your brethren slipping up my nose and into my brain.
I will not squash you with my thumb, forefinger, or the heel of my palm as I watch you, in almost grotesque symmetry, march across my wall. At eye level.
Find here safety, friends. Yes. Mi casa es sus casa, yes-in-deed.
Love,
Joel.
