It’s warm enough to sit outside and read review copies and watch the ants crawling over the doorstep. I never thought it would be sunny and warm again. I’m surprised to find ants (and sun) in a bog, but some things manage to live anywhere.

I suppose when the ant goes out it doesn’t know what it’s going to do today. It probably doesn’t have a sense of purpose; it waits to see what will happen. Maybe the ant is bereft and traumatised, but it still goes out. (Or maybe the bereft ants are still skulking in a hole.) I can do as well as an ant, at least; I’ll take my work outside and sit in the sun while it dries the mud of the Slough of Despond.


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