Near 500 words: Picnic

I’ve heard that, when all is said and done, the insects win. For anyone who has done a picnic, we know how true that can be.

Our best girl packs up a basketful of the best goodies. You know the goodies I am talking about. Those sandwiches she makes that are out of this world. That chocolate cake that melts in the mouth. That bottle of wine you’ve been saving for a special occasion. It’s like Omar Khayyam said, “Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse – and Thou Beside me…” Smart fellow, that Omar.

You spread the red and white checkered picnic cloth. She pulls out the paper plates and napkins, then sets out the sandwiches all cut into squares. Yummy. You uncork the wine. Give it a good sniff. Pour out an itsy bitsy amount into a plastic cup just for a taste. You take a drink and run the wine around in your mouth. Then you nod your head that the wine is perfect. You pour her a cup, then yourself. Then the two of you lift your cups for a toast to a perfect day and a perfect picnic.

You are out in nature and it is an absolutely gorgeous day. Not too warm and not too cool. The weather is cooperating like the meteorologist promised.

You fold your legs under your bottom, zen Buddhist style. As you sit beside the picnic spread, the two of you are enjoying the food, the company, the setting. From time to time, one of you tells a joke. You talk about the good times and the bad times and the times you’re not sure you want to share. But you do. Soon you’ve finished off the sandwiches. And a good bit of the wine. There’s only the chocolate cake left. That delicious, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate cake.

Both of you are a little giggly from the wine. You decide, maybe before the cake some, exercise would be a good thing. You brought a ball, so the two of you play catch for a half hour or so. Now you’re ready for that cake.

You look at the picnic spread. The cake is not there.

“Who stole the cake?” you yell.

You’re both frantic. That cake is the piece de resistance for a perfect day and now it’s gone. Then, in the distance, you see it. The cake. A bandit gang of ants are marching the cake away. And they are singing The Ants’ Battle Hymn, “When the ants go marching in.”

ants, ants, ants
they march, they eat,
they do their ant thing

which is
to march, to eat,
to do their ant thing

A Friday Extra: 15 Bloggers on WordPress

To all my blogging friends.

Fifteen bloggers on WordPress
Board a bus to go out west
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some are Irish, some Australian
Some from Merry Olde England
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some live in the U S of A
Or the Great White North of Canada, eh
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some have dogs, some have cats
Some are bald, some wear hats
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some are young, some are aged
Some play golf, some play games
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some do dance, some rock out
Some take selfies, some do not
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

On the bus they go travelling
Down the road as its unraveling
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

After a skip, jump and a hop
On a llama farm they stop
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

They unload all their best stuff
For a picky nick off the cuff
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Lots of food and drink they share
Some drink ale, some drink beer
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

They laugh, sing, and they dance
Here comes a battalion of ants
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Before you can count to ten
Bloggers on the bus waving
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

So it’s fifteen bloggers on WordPress
Where they’re going is anybody’s guess
Yo ho ho and a bag of words.