Miracle in Brandon Park


As I walk through the emerald grass in Brandon Park, looking downward taking care not to stumble over tree roots, I see a series of perfect miniature sand mountains about three inches tall with a perfectly round hole at the top of each.

I’m reminded of Indian tipis with a vent on top for smoke to escape from the cooking of the Indian women.

I wonder who could have made them.

And then I realize--they are ant colonies.

But these are not the ant hills I was used to seeing, growing up in Brooklyn.
Those were mere spills of sand on pavement.

But these are perfectly symmetrical, as if made on a potter’s wheel.

And I wonder about the vast cooperation that must have existed between the ants: to build structures next to which the Pyramids are as nothing.

They are so perfect and did not require overseers with whips to spur the workers on.

If my gaze was not fixed forcibly on the ground, I could easily step on one unawares.

And I reflect that if the ability to produce such remarkable architecture is in the small ant, who put it there?

Surely, there’s a God or divine order that permeates the lowest creatures.

May it not also direct my life?

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