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impagtsof different ant-social behaviour
ant observation
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A slow red sphere, pulsating with light and energy, rose across the hazy horizon; feeding the once dark and bleak island with colours, sound, and life. It was like an artist’s canvass slowly coming to life, as splashed the surface with colours and hues, and carefully put together his masterpiece. The island suddenly lit up as if someone had suddenly twisted the brightness knob on a television set, and flicked on the volume. The dark and mysterious trees and plants suddenly lit up with radiant joy, and I saw the finer detail of my surroundings in the brightness of the morning sun. As I got up I saw a multitude of ants scurrying about on the dark gnarled root, I gazed deeper into the ants world, staring in fascination at the various dark smudges, running across the root like farmers on a newly ploughed field. The black smudges crawled across the root, sometimes stopping as they came into contact with another ant waved their antennas about in joy to each other, and sometimes picking up a crumb in joy and sprinting back to the colony ecstatic with excitement. The crescendo of sound slowl...
The inspiring documentary film, E.O. Wilson—Of Ants and Men, showcases biologist Edward Osborne Wilson’s passion for preserving the biodiversity of our natural world. E.O. Wilson not only values the fascinating creatures (particularly ants) that he comes across during his research and in his daily life, but he also takes action and participates in the Gorongosa Restoration Project at Gorongosa National Park in Mozambique, Africa. The destruction of Gorongosa demonstrates the call for us—Homo sapiens—to realize how critical it is to concern ourselves with protecting the very ecosystems that have molded us into the complex species that we are; according to E.O. Wilson, “We adapted over millions of years to wild environments…We really need them” (CITE?). The better effort we make to understand that we are a part of this large, interdependent ecological community, the better equipped we become in not only being
Throughout the first Vignette, the author utilizes diction in a well thought out way, choosing words like light, warm, and glittering to paint the image of another beautiful morning and create a serene mood. One can almost feel the hope the snails feel in the world with lines like “The land they had found themselves in had grown increasingly
It was a spring afternoon in West Florida. Janie had spent most of the day under a blossoming pear tree in the back-yard. She had been spending every minute that she could steal from her chores under that tree for the last three days. That was to say, ever since the first tiny bloom had opened. It had called her to come and gaze on a mystery. From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds; from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom. It stirred her tremendously. How? Why? It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence and remembered again.
Most seventh graders know the principle that oil and water don’t mix. No matter how much the solution is shaken or stirred, the water will settle to the bottom and the oil will rise above to the surface. These attributes describing water and oil directly describe the relationship between Spurgeon and Ray, the two main characters in ZZ Packer’s “The Ant of the Self.” Spurgeon, the “water” and intelligent son of Ray Bivens Jr., finds himself carrying the burden of supporting his self-centered, inappreciative father, the “oil,” on his shoulders. Oblivious to his son’s needs as well as others in the story, Ray tramples over the true meaning of an intimate relationship and worsens or even crumbles his existing ones.
Would you risk your own life and the lives of another 400 people just so you might have a chance at saving a coffee plantation? Well that’s what Leiningen did in the short story “Leiningen Versus the Ants”. And by doing so he has proved himself to be an over confident, persuasive, and sexist man. And is not a person to be admired.
Imagine walking down an ancient path amidst a forest of tangled and twisted trees, some of which have existed since before a time even great grandparents can remember. The air echoes with sounds of life, and the fragrance is that of cedar or juniper… or something not quite either. The living things that dwell here, bridge a gap in time that many are totally unaware of and for the reasons about to be explained, may never become so. The beauty that surrounds this place is unexplainable in the tongue of man, yet its presence can be felt by all who choose to behold it. At least for now…
"Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb of night had greatly lessened, when I began to distinguish my sensations from each other. I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with drink, and the trees that shaded me with their foliage. I was delighted when I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had often intercepted the light from my eyes. I began also to observe, with greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me, and the boundaries of the radient roof of light which canopied me. Sometimes I tried to imitate the pleasant sounds of the birds, but was unable. Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me back into silence."
The production of new ideas spark momentum for thought, the fabrication of machinery paves the way for innovations, and the expansion of human connection has led to new forms of participation. Historically, eras have been defined by the highlights of its period: the Stone Age allowed the development of tools while the Gold Age refined methods already produced to be more efficient in their purposes. If these are the things that define these eras, what has defined the twenty first century? In the later parts of the twentieth century, new technology like computer software ignited the world in a way never seen before. People all around the world were given access to connect with one another through the click of a button, and from there, the possibilities
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
As the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon, penetrating the dark, soft light illuminates the mist rising up from the ground, forming an eerie, almost surreal landscape. The ground sparkles, wet with dew, and while walking from the truck to the barn, my riding boots soak it in. The crickets still chirp, only slower now. They know that daytime fast approaches. Sounds, the soft rustling of hooves, a snort, and from far down the aisle a sharp whinny that begs for breakfast, inform me that the crickets are not the only ones preparing for the day.
Ants, Little but Mighty. What is an ant? Ants are insects, they have six legs and each leg has three joints. Ants legs are very strong.
We took off down a path covered softly with moss and tiny pink flowers. Off to the side of the path were endless green trees and pants all nestled together to make one beautiful piece of art. After a while, we reached a sparkling, clear brook. It was about twelve feet deep and nearly three feet deep. The path wound right along side the water. Down the brook a ways, we came to a deep water hole where the fish danced in the swirling current. I noticed the brook was beginning to flow a little faster now, and I could hear the steady, rushing noise of the water falling over the cliffs that lied ahead. We walked to the cliff's edge to look over at the crystal clear lagoon that lay below us. The falls dropped about thirty feet down before it met the pool of water below. To the sides of the waterfall were moss-covered rocks, ferns and other green plants, growing from the crevices of the cliffs.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.