preparing for winter

i.
On the cracked and ravaged sidewalk,
the concrete knolls barely clinging
to the tops of angry tree roots
An army of ants scurries about,
preparing for winter
among ocher autumn leaves.
Hopping over this pebble,
that chunk of moss
creeping through up
through the crevice.
One ant stares up at the trees,
those shining beacons of
a rarely pondered heaven
by relativity.
They're alive now
with the screaming of noises
The ant can't begin to comprehend.

ii.
In the trees, the warfare of the cicadas
is in full bore.
The symphony of their machine gunning timbals
and the timpani of tossed acorns.
Leaves caught in the crossfire
drift gently down.
Three cicadas in a burl foxhole,
the first firing rounds of ammunition
and expletives.
the second screaming commands to
unseen cicadas hidden thin-veiled
behind the dying leaves.
The third holding his head down,
sobbing for his mother
as bullets chip away at bark, leaf and nut.
The second screams at him to fire his weapon.
He jumps up just in time to catch
an enemy bullet in the exoskeleton
and fall.
He does not drift gently down.

iii.
Below, the ant sees something
falling fast between the leaves.
He only just avoids being crushed.
Hiding behind a nearby hunk of rock,
he notices the rush of green muck spilling
out of the creature onto the concrete,
the gossamer wings flapping
with quickly-sapping strength.
The blinking, fading black eyes
filled with fear.
The ant cannot move.
He remains at rest, staring
like an unsure David
at this unknown Goliath
and his strange portent
from the heavens.

iv.
The third cicada, falling fast
but fading slowly. Memories flicker
between shafts of light,
cutting this way and that, through the
palisade cells of the fluttering leaves
illuminating maps to
unwandered territories.
A vision of his mother now,
his countless brothers and sisters.
Another blade of light.
His mother's eyes obscured,
the brightness is almost too much to bear.
A thousand eggs burrowed in bark,
a beam caresses him.
Another taunting map.
He knows what should be coming now,
and yet he is forever waiting
for this pain
to cease.