There was an ant carrying a blue dragonfly tail. He had travelled so far with it, across a land of frayed white wood, over knots and nails and patches of lichen, past crevices that opened onto the dark waters below. He did not let go and he did not fall. But then, somehow, the tail got stuck under a stick. He pulled and pulled, using every bit of his strength. He tried every angle. He lifted it in his pinchers and swung it side to side. He maneuvered and let go, stepped away and stepped back again. How could he leave his hard-earned prize? Sometimes it happens that the unseen powers will intervene and lift the stick.
“Formicidae”, pencil on paper stained with onion skins and goldenrod, Erika Connor 2015
