no stepping on the ants

I was out walking with my mother, one of the first really warm days of spring. Our walk progressed at glacial speed, because my mother is old and frail. 

Walking extremely slowly gives you a new perspective on things, especially if you're not talking or listening to music. Your mind goes into a dazed slow-motion mode. It was so slow that I started to notice the ants on the path. So slow that I actually started to focus on not stepping on the individual ants on the path. 

That's really slow, in case you're wondering.

"There are ants here," my mother commented after a long, comfortable silence.

And I knew she was trying to avoid stepping on them too. That's the kind of person my mother is - gentle and kind to people and animals, even ants. When I was little, if we found a spider or wasp inside the house, we never killed it - we caught it and carried it out into the garden. Except if the temperature outside was freezing. In that case, the spider was lovingly deposited in the garage where it had a fair chance of surviving.

I'm a bit scared of spiders and wasps but I still can't kill one without literally losing sleep over it.

Animals stir up the tenderness in me more than humans do, generally speaking. That's why, when I had slowed down enough to notice the ants on that path, my subconscious mind registered them almost as individual souls that would suffer if I stepped on them.

At times I have felt vaguely ashamed of such sensitivity. Adult life in a busy world has taught me to stride along with speed and efficiency, not caring how many ants I crush under my shoes. I still carry spiders out into the garden, sighing with relief when they are far away from me, and I'm used to being ridiculed for it.

But then I watch strangers on YouTube rescuing trapped birds, or see my sister carefully carry a ladybird to safety, or realise that my mother is just as aware of the ants under her feet as I am. 

And then I remember that tender hearts will inherit the earth.