From a few miles before golden oaks spring to robin bird spring
I’ve got ants crawling in my hair, I can tell, but it’s the middle of the night and I just don’t care. I brush them off my face, doze, do it again. Finally it’s J’s restlessness that wakes me up. “We’re crawling with ants!”
“I know. Why don’t you just turn your bag around?” I mumble, mostly asleep.
“The little buggers are biting me! And now I smell like distressed ant and they won’t leave me alone!”