The world shrinks as I watch three ants wander the pots on my balcony.
Patient travellers, carefully mapping their world to the top of each plant. Tiny questing spirits searching the furthest edges of their universe.
These brave little souls shouldn’t go unrecognised.
Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria, I christen them.
Michael has only a fair to middling green thumb, and always tries to look out for the little critters in his garden.