On the minus eighth day of Christmas, which is today, I don't feel very Christmassy, but I know how to rectify that. From now until Christmas I'll write about Christmassy things. And so:
Nativity.
At Townsend Park, where my mum lives, the men have made lifesize painted plywood Christmas decorations and placed them at various points throughout the grounds. There are Disneyesque mice in red Christmas hats saluting near the flower bed, thin angels blowing golden horns at the end of the drive, reindeer with mouselike features prancing on the oval, and, the piece de resistance, a nativity scene in the gazebo, complete with everybody but the infant Jesus.
This lack of a baby Jesus is quite concerning. Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and the wise men staring into an empty cradle.
Has he been stolen?
Or has Easter come early?
Showing posts with label horns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horns. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Ant Stories
Speaking of ants, began Pliny the Elder, I recall a story I recorded in my Natural Histories about the ants of India.
Oh really? I said. Tell me the story.
These ants have giant horns. They are the colour of a cat and about the size of an Egyptian wolf.
Quite large then, I said.
Oh yes. These ants excavate gold from holes in the ground in northern India. The people there try to take the gold in the summer when the ants are underground escaping from the heat. But the ants, catching the scent of the Indians, sally forth and frequently tear them to pieces.
The Indians? I asked. They tear the Indians to pieces?
Yes, even though the Indians are provided with the swiftest of camels for the purpose of flight.
With camels! I echoed. Well, that is a most wonderful story. Ants certainly are the most interesting of creatures. That reminds me, I heard a story about ants only this morning, from my son.
Tell me the story, said Pliny.
Well, he arrived home yesterday in the late afternoon and went out into his back garden. He saw what he thought was a black mist in the central section of his back fence. On getting closer he realised that the black mist was actually thousands, if not millions, of ants, marching up and down the fence, having paid a visit to a certain pot that was lying on the ground nearby.
And what was in the pot? asked Pliny.
That was the strange thing, I answered. Nothing but dirt, according to my son. And the ants were not carrying any pieces of food, neither on their way up nor on their way down.
Most mysterious, agreed Pliny. What did your son do then?
He went inside and got some Ant Rid, I said. He sprinkled it around, and half an hour later there wasn't an ant in sight. He said he was sorry he hadn't taken a photograph of the black mist.
Indeed, said Pliny. It is always wise to collect evidence of unusual events. Or people might be disinclined to believe that they happened.
Was there any evidence for your giant Indian ants? I asked.
There was, said Pliny, a pair of horns of miraculous size, suspended in the Temple of Hercules, at Erythrae.
Oh really? I said. Tell me the story.
These ants have giant horns. They are the colour of a cat and about the size of an Egyptian wolf.
Quite large then, I said.
Oh yes. These ants excavate gold from holes in the ground in northern India. The people there try to take the gold in the summer when the ants are underground escaping from the heat. But the ants, catching the scent of the Indians, sally forth and frequently tear them to pieces.
The Indians? I asked. They tear the Indians to pieces?
Yes, even though the Indians are provided with the swiftest of camels for the purpose of flight.
With camels! I echoed. Well, that is a most wonderful story. Ants certainly are the most interesting of creatures. That reminds me, I heard a story about ants only this morning, from my son.
Tell me the story, said Pliny.
Well, he arrived home yesterday in the late afternoon and went out into his back garden. He saw what he thought was a black mist in the central section of his back fence. On getting closer he realised that the black mist was actually thousands, if not millions, of ants, marching up and down the fence, having paid a visit to a certain pot that was lying on the ground nearby.
And what was in the pot? asked Pliny.
That was the strange thing, I answered. Nothing but dirt, according to my son. And the ants were not carrying any pieces of food, neither on their way up nor on their way down.
Most mysterious, agreed Pliny. What did your son do then?
He went inside and got some Ant Rid, I said. He sprinkled it around, and half an hour later there wasn't an ant in sight. He said he was sorry he hadn't taken a photograph of the black mist.
Indeed, said Pliny. It is always wise to collect evidence of unusual events. Or people might be disinclined to believe that they happened.
Was there any evidence for your giant Indian ants? I asked.
There was, said Pliny, a pair of horns of miraculous size, suspended in the Temple of Hercules, at Erythrae.
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