Making her way to a slide when a black spot is noticed out of the side of her eye. A brief closer inspection affirms its identity. An ant. She takes a few steps back from her intended foothold and begins to scream for daddy, pointing, a look of worried concern embracing her sun-quenched face.
“Fy! Fy!”, she deems.
“No, not a fly”, J corrects. “Just an ant.”
“Ant! Ant!”, she continues to point and screech in his direction until it’s conclusively gone, climbing out of sight and away from the timorous girl. The area declared safe, she breathes a tension-releasing sigh of relief before she bounds off again to play.
While in the process of digging dirt, bedraggled hands and murky knees, he comes across a line of ants. Bending closer, he giddily examines their slight bodies as they scurry around the ground. A reaction completely opposite that of his sister.
“Ant! Ant!”, he exclaims in bright animation as he clomps his finger down like Godzilla to pick one up and carries it over, basking in his find. He passes the black speck from his hand to mine like a gift, concerned and amused over his new friend. I don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s squished.
“We’ll just put the ant over here”, I goad as I brush off its remains and the boy returns with voracious eagerness to search for more.