In Real Time.

I haven’t seen an ant in many a cold week. I assume they’re tucked away safely in their hills. Meanwhile and somehow

Still fiddlin’.

I’ll leave the metaphor implicit for you to discern yourself, not because that’s the belletristicly proper thing to do, but because I have no idea what the truth is, and we all know it will end badly for her because eventually it ends badly for everything that lives.

Catching up companion piece posted under 20 Nov if you care to.