Micro-Landscapes of the Anthropocene

The Dead

We have an ant problem at out place. The siege began at our bathroom tap and we were bewildered because they did not seem to be fighting for food, just the memory of water and the occasional toothpaste stain. Then they made their way to the kitchen, marching when undisturbed, scattering when found out, and settled themselves in the cracks beneath the fruit bowl, the overhanging ledge of the windowsill, and the hollow beneath the kettle. They are stealthy, these interlopers. They work silently, undiscovered until a plate is moved or the toaster shifted and suddenly they are revealed in the dozens, exposed to the wrath of a wet cloth and human indignation. I used to pity them. They seemed so small and innocent, so organic in their desires. The wish to eat, sleep and breathe did not seem so very awful. But then the multitudes grew. We were always outnumbered; we became inundated. They burrowed into our fruit, congregated around the bread pulled from the oven, stalked obdurately towards the contents of our bin. When we bought traps they danced around them. I could not longer see the individual ant; they were a mass, a hive, a multitude. I had lost track of the insectostance.

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