With the final burst of summer last week, I looked up to find a black-speckled cloud hovering six inches above my head.  Within seconds, the cloud burst and blanketed my hair, the hood of my car and the driveway around where I stood.

I knelt down to inspect, and I discovered the black specks were flying ants—and mysteriously, they all fell clear out of the sky in pairs.

The pairs were fighting to the death—wrangling and rolling about, tiny mandibles gnashing, thoraxes twisting, wings violently thrashing.  It was a spectacle to behold.

I ran for my camera, practically hearing their eggshell exoskeletons crunching beneath my feet.

“What are you looking for?” Doug was shaping ground beef into perfect little patties for the grill, dogs salivating at his feet.

“My camera!” I blurted as I fumbled through the day’s wreckage all over the counter.  “There’s an ant massacre going on all over the driveway.   They all fell out of the sky at the same time in a matter of seconds.  It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen!”

He followed me out, spatula still in hand.  I led him to the end of the driveway and came to a halt.

Just like that, they were gone.

All except for about a half dozen pairs of stragglers, struggling on the hood of our car.  I leaned over, peered through my camera lens and zoomed in.

Doug stared at me incredulously.  “Why are you taking pictures?”  He looked a bit disturbed.

“Because it’s cool,” I replied, snapping away.  “I’ve never seen insects attack each other before, live and up close.  It’s like a bug gang war, all over the car hood!  How do you suppose they assembled an army so flawlessly, all their one-on-one combat executed in perfect synchronicity?”

(Or at least, that’s what I was thinking.  In real life, I’m nowhere near that articulate.)

Doug learned forward and stared at my remaining pair of subjects.  Then he looked at me and my camera.  I think I heard him laugh to himself.  Soon enough, he retreated into the house with his spatula, shaking his head.

When I downloaded the pictures and enlarged them, I discovered why he was laughing.  Why, this wasn’t an ant massacre at all.  In fact, this was as opposite to a massacre as you could get.

And try as I might, there is only one last thought that I can’t dispel from my screaming, restless mind.

A colony of flying ants mated in my hair.

It’s a feeling  no wash, rinse or repeat ever will shake.