Writing atop an anthill

My feet dig into the grayish sands in this beach town resort. Crabholes, or so I call them, can be found every meter or so but don’t seem to threaten anyone. I’ve seen some of the semi-translucent creatures emerge from their holes and wonder if these holes were meant as a trap to some unassuming insect or just a cozy nest where they can chill by the beach. As my foot digs further down, mimicking the habit of these crustaceans, it is attacked by a single red ant. I raise my foot up for further inspection and the critter is cringing, almost willing its whole exoskeleton to impart some significant amount of pain upon me. Of course, I pick the ant off and throw his (or her) into one of the crabholes. Would the resident crab make a meal of it or just disregard the now dead and mangled insect as another grain of sand eludes me and frankly I could care less about it.

There seems to be a whole lot of ants around. Generally they don’t seem to bother anyone except for that evil one I picked off. I earlier dropped off the smallest of crumbs and it was immediately pounced upon by at least 5 of these insects. I look beyond the general area of my foot and find more just wandering around, quite unlike the orderly lines that those living off my kitchen make. Is it the general carefree lifestyle of the beach that made these ants evolve into unguided, unruly and purpose-less creatures?

Co-existing with the reds, the black seems to be their usual flighty selves except that just like the red ones, they don’t seem to be acting as an efficient and organized unit themselves. Maybe the beach does something to most beings. I dunno.

*****

Strange thing I witnessed earlier today. An outrigger boat burned. At first I thought someone was maybe cooking something onboard, even then such an absurd thought. But then the boatman jumped into the water, stranger still. He flopped around the water and struggled to douse the fire by spraying water onto it. Who would have thought that getting water onboard a boat actually saves it? I’ve always thought it the other way around.

Well anyway, the fire was still raging and the man struggled all by his lonesome to tip the boat over. After maybe five minutes of struggle, he did. You’d expect the fire to drown out, right? Wrong. It seems that there was still air trapped within the cavity of the boat. It was fitted with outriggers and thus won’t sink that easily. So the man still flailed in the water in a panic, still trying to put out the flames. Maybe he would’ve had more of a chance of success had he continued with that flailing instead of all that effort to capsize the thing. Other boats took notice and hurriedly rushed in to offer help. Well, the guys trying to help were still on their boats, what sort of help could you expect? They didn’t really keep a bucket handy so they watched and made a semi-pathetic effort to help spray the craft. Another five minutes and they finally stopped the inferno.

Of course, they had to tow the boat back to harbor. A pity for the boatman, I would imagine that the boat afforded him his meager lifestyle and having his boat burn was a real bummer. I’m still wondering though what happened? Maybe he spilled some gasoline and lit a cigarette? Beats me. Sort of thing you just don’t expect happen to a boat that is half submerged in the sea. Strange things indeed happen, count me a believer in Murphy’s Law.

*****

Am debating with myself on whether I should go take a swim or just lounge out the remainder of the afternoon here in the hut. Conventional wisdom says that since I am at the beach then I should at least take a little dip. But seeing how the waves hurl the surfers here airborne and how steep the water suddenly gets deep is giving me reason not to. If only this were some other beach with gentle waters and a really shallow waterline I would not have given it much of a thought.

Since I haven’t ended my post here yet and you are reading more, I leave it to you to guess what I decided on. No-brainer, of course.

*****

The people at the adjacent hut have been drinking and singing all day. I wonder how long they can hold up before finally letting go of the microphone and calling it quits. Funny thing is that the guy currently on the microphone has yet to relinquish control for the last 20 songs or so. I don’t think anyone has noticed him but me. You’d think he was in a concert or something. I wonder if he were alone at home, would he still be singing to himself or does he crave all the attention (in his mind, at least) that he is getting? Some instances you just wish the electricity went out.