playing semaphore
I was cutting my fingernails (extra carefully, after watching Black Swan) and they were falling, falling into the garden and mulch below. Spaced out and thinking, I saw the little white crescents seemingly waving to and fro of their own accord. They were being picked up by laborious ants, hoisted onto their backs and waved gracefully in the air like sails or coded semaphores that defied meaning. There was something infinitely whimsical about this whole process, to imagine an ant chomping away on my discarded, keratin fingernails.

2011-01-27
9:05 p.m.
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