Where a Battlefield Was
A Short Story by Jack Mint Grass grows over most of the up and down landscape. A few places are islands of bare gravel. They are surrounded by yellowing halos where the green of that grass sank to somewhere else below the footsteps of ants. They proceed in the sporadic lines of a march step they’ve known forever creased in the crisscross nature of continuing. Casting spritely shadows on the ants, bees peruse the sunlight on the clearing like marooned sailors. They look down mostly. They search for flowers the scouts had reported back at the hive. Bees dance to…