Under a tree, I sat with a book.

 

"What’s this for?" asked a small ant, now crawling atop my page.

 

"What’s what for?" I responded.

 

"This large white array I've just wandered upon. What’s it for?"         

 

"You probably won't understand."

 

"Perhaps not, but despite being small, I am no less curious."

​

“Well . . .” I said, “It’s called a book."

 

"What's a book for?"

 

"It’s so we can store our thoughts."

 

"How?"

 

“You see those black lines and squiggles? They represent words or numbers."

​

"Hmm . . .” The ant sat contemplating, its antennae twitching about.

 

"Do you understand?" I asked.

 

"No, you were right, but I’m at least smarter than I was before. Thank you."

 

"You're welcome, best of luck to you.”

 

"Good luck to you as well." And the ant left.

 

I continued my reading, but could not shake the ant’s question. Eventually, I looked up.

​

"What’s this for?" I asked the sky, the book now closed beside me.

 

"What is what for?" responded some voice from the clouds.

 

"This large sphere I'm standing on now. What's it for?"

 

“You probably won't understand,” it said.

 

"Perhaps not, but despite being small, I am no less curious."

 

And the voice said, “Hmm. It's like this . . ."