Morning

  There was something going on outside, but she wasn't going to look. Just men moving dirt around, the familiar shake and scuffle of big machines--big as in HUGE--picking up this dirt and putting it there, making a mountain of rubble on the left and a hole of emptiness on the right--a hole to be filled by the next crew of workers, the builders.

    Which made her laugh because her first image was of ants, red ants bearing a twig or shard of grass in their mouths, trudging on their impossible tiny feet from here to who knew where--and why?

    Because that is what they were born to do.

    Did they even think about it?

    No.

    They picked up the blade of...the blade of...the blade of...something, and moved it. 

    Which is what was going on outside now, just the other side of her window. Men moving stuff, scraping and hauling, moving this to there and that here.

    Which made her laugh again. We are all just ants, aren't we, for all our pretensions of...what? Progress? Of doing what we are born to do?

    Which made her smile.

    Do the ants even think about it? Well, who knew the mind of an ant? They got up and got busy, did what they were born to do.

    Which was true of every living thing. Right? 

    Elephants....elephants...? Well, what actually did elephants do?

    She had no idea.

    Unbelievable that she couldn't come up with a purpose for an elephant. Enough to get her up and out of bed, into the shower, into some semblance of dress appropriate for the day, and in the kitchen starting the coffee.

    "Just like an ant," she said. "That's what I am--a worker ant."

    She was still smiling when he came up behind her, freshly shaven, smelling of soap, gave her a quick kiss on her neck, and reached around for his cup.

    "You're my favorite ant," she said, and twisted to kiss him on the cheek.

    "Uncle," he said. He knew enough to not to ask her what she was talking about, and was out the door before she could yell uncle?