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  • I know the wind.

    I sit amidst the tall douglas firs. So sparse where I am on the forest floor, no branches, no green needles. I stretch my neck and back to look up to their tops, where the green colours the blue of the sky and the sunlight streams through.

    It is calm where I am, as I go about my business, setting up camp, unpacking sleeping bags and snapping photos of these silent giants. Then a whisper begins and grows louder as it nears. A conversation I cannot understand yet raises the hairs on the back of my neck and I feel I am surrounded by others. The treetops are moving and talking. I close my eyes and I feel as though I could almost make out their language. The trees answer back as only their tops sway, bending through their upper spines as if laughing, their trunks planted firmly without movement. We call it the wind and know its voice in the trees.

    The image of an ant comes to mind. Diligently working among her colony, she moves along through the tall grasses. Children and parents play ball in the grass, calling to one another, laughing. The ant hears the voices, the familiar noise, yet does not know their source. She cannot understand the words spoken nor their context. She is engulfed in her own world, unaware of how large the world around her really is and how far its extent.

    I wonder...

    what name do the ants know us by.
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