I was eager to learn to read and write.
I prepared myself an office; I collected into a show box, notes and papers I found around our home, and wrote on them small signs and pictures.
I would read it to myself out loud, sailing in a different legend each time.
Bending down above my notes, I was surprised by the tip of my pencil creating dots and lines, short and curly ones; it had a life of its own. I listened to the sounds, observed the dance. Each mark had a different resonance, a tiny written queen ant.
One day I fully apprehended that, in fact, each small drawing has only one sound!
The charm of my writing was gone at once.
The queen ant’s wings fell down with deep disappointment.