By WR Jones
This was not the motif I had in mind for the day. Earlier I had pulled off the canyon road to paint a group of rocks high on a hill. It was sunny and windy. I parked along the road and set up under a tree for shade. I hung a 10lb dumbell, purchased at Wal Mart, from my tripod to prevent it being blown over. Once under the tree I could see it would not be enough shade. The sun kept finding little areas of my canvas no matter how I moved the easel.
Because of the wind I didn’t want to use an umbrella but had no choice. I attached it to the tripod and used an elaborate set of moves to wedge the umbrella in the tree branches. Almost ready to go. I put out and mixed my paints, sketched in a rough drawing, took my meditative deep breaths to relax, and … OW! Something stabbed me high up on my inner thigh. I looked around for a thorn bush, then OW, another sword strike lower down the thigh; a few seconds later behind the knee and on the ankle.
I looked down at my feet and found them and my lower legs covered with large red and black ants. I was standing on a nest of miniature land piranhas. They were eating me alive. I jumped off the nest and shucked out of my pants in a pair of seconds. Standing by the roadside in my bare feet and skivvies I was swatting the little devils as fast as I could go. I was worried I might pass out from loss of blood, but did anyone stop to give me aid? In a word, no, every passing car driver took a look at me, swerved away and sped up. I just don’t get it.
I decided I didn’t want to paint those rocks all that bad and moved on down the road. This time I set up out on the road so I could see those evil insects if they launched another attack. Here’s the thing. Would you rather be bitten by an ant or hit by a dirt truck? laying here in my full body cast, I can see an ant starting up my leg. How did he get in here?