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小蚂蚁，把太阳搬回家
清早，我蹲在墙角，看见一条线从墙洞里出来。是小蚂蚁，出门了。露水还没干，它已经走了一段路。
线是直的，比我文具盒里的尺子还直。线是快的，比钟上的秒针还快。没有人喊一二一，可没有一只掉队。没有人举旗子，可没有一只走错。
它搬一粒米，比它的身子还重。它搬一片蝉的翅膀，比它的身子还宽。它抬一块饼干渣，比糖还甜。它抬着走，六条腿一步一步，从不肯停。它的触角朝前，一路探路，遇到缝就绕，遇到坑就跨。
路上碰见了，触角碰触角。碰一下，就懂了：粮食在前面，朝这边走。碰一下，就懂了：洞口在后面，家在那边。触角是两根小小的问句，也是两根小小的回答。
搬东西的时候，它的身子往前倾，像给路面鞠躬。转身的时候，队伍跟着拐弯，可不断。遇上小石子，队伍绕过去，绕完又直了。
一只蚂蚁搬，搬不动。两只蚂蚁抬着走。十只蚂蚁排成排，饼干自己上了墙。一百只蚂蚁连成线，把太阳也搬回了家。
我蹲在墙角读小蚂蚁。线短，我一口气读完。线长，我读了一上午。读到墙洞那里，最后一只蚂蚁刚好进去，露水在草叶上晒干了。
小蚂蚁，你别急。我把脚挪开，让你的队伍过去。小蚂蚁，你把太阳搬回家，明早还要早早出门，把那条细黑线，一直画到我的脚边。
我回家告诉妈妈，蚂蚁把太阳搬走了。妈妈问，太阳在哪儿。我说，在墙洞里，它们留着阴天用。妈妈没有笑，蹲下来，和我一起看那条线。
小蚂蚁，小蚂蚁，你这么小，小得像句号。你这么多，多得像一本书里的字。我读小蚂蚁，一上午读完了。我想接着读，明天清早再来。
Little Ant Carrying the Sun Home
Early in the morning, I squat by the wall corner and see a line coming out of the hole in the wall. It is the little ant, setting off. The dew is not yet dry, and it has already walked a stretch of road.
The line is straight, straighter than the ruler in my pencil case. The line is fast, faster than the second hand on the clock. No one shouts a marching count, yet no ant falls behind. No one carries a flag, yet no ant takes a wrong step.
It carries a grain of rice, heavier than its own body. It carries a piece of cicada wing, wider than its own body. It lifts a crumb of biscuit, sweeter than candy. It lifts and walks, six legs one step at a time, never willing to stop. Its antennae point forward, feeling out the road, going around cracks and striding over hollows.
When they meet on the road, antennae touch antennae. One touch, and it is understood: the food is ahead, this way. One touch, and it is understood: the hole is behind, home is that way. The antennae are two small questions, and also two small answers.
When carrying, its body leans forward, as if bowing to the road. When turning, the line bends with it, but never breaks. When it meets a small pebble, the line goes around, and straightens again after passing.
One ant tries to carry, and cannot. Two ants carry it together. Ten ants line up, and the biscuit climbs the wall by itself. A hundred ants join into one line, and carry even the sun home.
I squat by the wall corner and read the little ant. When the line is short, I read it in one breath. When the line is long, I read it all morning. When I reach the hole in the wall, the last ant is just going in, and the dew has dried on the grass leaves.
Little ant, do not rush. I move my foot aside and let your line pass. Little ant, carry the sun home, and tomorrow morning set off early again, drawing that thin black line all the way to my feet.
I go home and tell my mother that the ants have carried the sun away. She asks where the sun is. I say it is in the hole in the wall, saved for cloudy days. She does not laugh; she squats down and looks at the line with me.
Little ant, little ant, you are so small, small as a full stop. You are so many, many as the characters in a book. I read the little ant, and finished it in one morning. I want to go on reading, so I will come back early tomorrow.
我们是蚂蚁小队
我们住在墙洞里。天一亮，第一只蚂蚁就出门了。第二只跟着，第三只跟着，队伍排成一条细黑线，从墙根一直画到草丛。
我们的个子小，小得像一粒标点。我们的步子快，快得像下雨。没有人喊口令，队伍不乱。没有人管纪律，队伍不断。
触角是我们的小电话。碰一下，前面说：发现米粒，很大。碰一下，后面说：收到，就来。碰一下，大的让小的先过，前面的给后面的指路。两根触角，比谁的电话都快。
我们搬米粒。一粒米，够全家吃三天。我们抬虫翅膀，一片翅膀，够全家吃一星期。我们顶面包渣，渣比糖还甜，甜得队伍走得更稳。
一只蚂蚁搬米粒，米粒不动。两只蚂蚁抬，米粒晃了晃。三只四只五只一起上，米粒离了地。十只蚂蚁排成两列，米粒自己走路。我们喊着听不见的号子，米粒就走上了墙。
路上有小水洼，我们不绕。大的蚂蚁先趴下，小的蚂蚁踩着过去，一个接一个，水洼上搭起一座会抖的桥。桥是我们自己，路也是我们自己。
风把队伍吹乱过，我们重新排。雨把路冲断过，我们重新走。太阳出来，细黑线又出现了，比昨天更长，比昨天更直。
别踩我们的路。别拿水冲我们的洞。我们那么小，小得经不起一脚。我们那么多，多得能抬起比身子大十倍的粮食。
清早你蹲下来看，我们在排队。傍晚你蹲下来看，我们还在排队。夜里你睡着了，我们的触角还在碰：明天，米粒在那边，继续走。
我们是蚂蚁小队，住在墙洞里。我们的名字你记不住，我们的队伍你天天见。你见我们一次，就蹲下来看一次，这就是对我们最好的夸奖。
We Are the Ant Squad
We live in the hole in the wall. At daybreak the first ant sets off. The second follows, the third follows, and the line forms a thin black thread drawn from the wall all the way to the grass.
We are small, small as a punctuation mark. Our steps are fast, fast as falling rain. No one gives commands, yet the line is not in disorder. No one keeps discipline, yet the line never breaks.
Our antennae are our little telephones. One touch, and the front says: found a grain of rice, very big. One touch, and the back says: received, coming at once. One touch, and the big ones let the small ones pass first, the front ones show the way to those behind. Two antennae are faster than any telephone.
We carry grains of rice. One grain feeds the whole family for three days. We lift insect wings. One wing feeds the whole family for a week. We hold up crumbs of bread, sweeter than candy, and the sweeter they are, the steadier the line walks.
One ant tries to carry a grain, and it does not move. Two ants lift, and it wobbles. Three, four, five together, and the grain leaves the ground. Ten ants form two columns, and the grain walks by itself. We chant a count no one can hear, and the grain climbs up the wall.
When there is a small puddle on the road, we do not go around. The big ants lie down first, the small ones step over them, one after another, and a trembling bridge rises over the puddle. The bridge is ourselves, and the road is ourselves too.
The wind has scattered our line, and we form it again. The rain has cut our road, and we walk it again. When the sun comes out, the thin black line appears again, longer than yesterday, straighter than yesterday.
Do not step on our road. Do not pour water into our hole. We are so small that one step is more than we can bear. We are so many that we can lift grain ten times bigger than our bodies.
Squat down and look in the morning: we are in line. Squat down and look in the evening: we are still in line. At night when you sleep, our antennae are still touching: tomorrow, the rice is that way, keep walking.
We are the ant squad, living in the hole in the wall. You cannot remember our names, but you see our line every day. Every time you squat down to watch us, that is the finest praise you can give us.
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