It's amazing how the first day at a college resembles an overturned anthill. People scurrying to and fro, lost souls looking in vain for where they need to be. Professors herd students into safety; hour-long dens for a brief, knowledge-filled moment of peace, only to be shoved back into the bright sun with the other ants scrambling for help and direction.
Hornets, adorned in gray and badges, lurk on the outskirts of the confusion, waiting patiently to sting one of those lost and confused ants; awaiting with eagle eye's for one of them to make a fatal mistake. A stinger made of ink and paper, piercing poor insects through the pocketbook, adds to the ball of anxiety and confusion that is the first days of this ant farm.
Noises assail the unwary bugs that go crawling, wide-eyed and obviously out of sorts. Bells, whistles, the incessant babble of nearby birds, dressed in today's hippest fashions, mocking those little lost ants. Construction rattles them, as they watch buildings being erected and torn down in the blink of their awestruck eyes. The sounds of a thousand voices, trapped and echoing off the concrete walls, vibrate in the air, suffocating, smothering, the cries of their anguish and despair.
When the final note has been taken and the last page has been reviewed and re-reviewed, the ants slow their frantic pace. Suddenly, almost in the space of a single, collective sigh, the anthill rights itself, the soft earth pulled back into place and tunnels that are familiar return to their form. The ants head away from the hill, plodding along paved pathways to the corners of the city, ready to return the next day and overturn the earth once more and start the panic anew.
No comments:
Post a Comment