It was Monday morning and, standing in front of the mirror, he tightened the bow properly and combed his eyelashes at the top of each ‘antenna’.
It was about time to leave; the journey to the office was a long one, and he never knew what dangers lay in wait for him.
Across the street, she was arriving, eager to sink into the comfort of her bed.
Their timetables were very differen, she worked shifts, but on Monday mornings it had become a regular occurrence for them to bump into each other, even if only briefly, in the courtyard between the blocks of flats.
The ant would sometimes arrive feeling very disheartened; her work was very hard and extremely dangerous, especially in the city of humans. In the eyes of the humans, and amidst the hustle and bustle of them rushing to their own jobs, a trail of ants is nothing more than an almost invisible line on the ground. And so many of the ant’s colleagues lost their lives, simply because people did not have the time to pay attention.
The Snail always had a kind word for her during these difficult days. After all, he himself faced similar risks on his journey between home and the office. Even though a snail is more visible to a human, it is not quick enough to avoid the hectic pace of the city.
They both dreamt of moving to the countryside and enjoying a slower pace of life.
A life where there’s time to watch the seasons unfold at a leisurely pace and notice how the fruit grows on the trees.
A life where there’s time to stop and help an overwhelmed snail that’s ended up in the middle of the path, or simply to change course so as not to cross the path of a column of hard-working ants.