loose threads

this morning i found an orange blossom resting on the ground. orange blossom is such an intoxicating scent; it burns into my sinuses with sweetness. sometimes i fantasize about wandering through an orange grove with someone, snagging a handful of blossoms, and crushing them against the places where his pulse hums beneath his skin. i imagine the resulting drunk, eyes watering from all the sweet, all the sharp bite, the white petals pressed to his neck.

i was almost back inside the house when i realized an ant had been resting in the blossom and was now waking up, jostled by my humanness. i thought about returning it to a spot nearby, next to a different orange tree. and then the ant climbed out onto my thumb and started combing the air with its antenna. i thought about the short walk from where i currently stood to where i found the orange blossom and how large that distance would be to a tiny ant. i imagined being unexpectedly ripped from sleep only to find myself in a strange place. 

it took less than a minute for me to upend this ant’s world and less than a minute to set it right again.

i’m sure there’s a lesson here, but i’m too weary to look.