Ants Like Cattle at a Trough

It’s been a dry spring. The grass as crunchy as corn flakes without milk. The last rain I can barely remember now.

The ants seem to appreciate the saucer of water I left out back for the birds on the picnic table. One by one, the tiny black specks line the edge of the clay saucer like cattle at a trough drinking to their heart’s content — their antennas searching the air as they sip.

It will rain again. It always does.