the bird and the worm

the worm. quiet, gentle, pretty boring on the surface, kinda interesting underneath.

the bird. singing, flying, twitching.

the worm's life is dominated by earth and grass and silent progress.

the bird never stops moving. always with the moving. always with the pursuit of the next meal, the next twig for the nest, the next....whatever.

they need each other. the worm needs something to dream about. and who doesn't dream about flying?

the bird needs to be grounded. to be of the earth. if for no other reason than to be reminded of the glory that is flight when it happens. to enjoy riding the thermals of a summer day the bird needs to hop around feebly in the long grass.

the worm doesn't have the most amazing dreams. simple pleasures are enough. the worm doesn't want to know what it's like to glide over the grand canyon, it just wants to know what the yard would look like from on top of the old barn. simple.

the bird may not dream at all. what's the point? when you can fly. when you can sing. when you're noticed for your grace and beauty. everything should dream of being a bird.

they need each other. the bird and the worm. they'll never get to where they want to go without the other. it sounds odd but it's true, even from the worm's perspective. what's life without danger? without dreams? without variety?

so the worm seeks out the bird. spends a little too long trying to reveal itself among the grass and rain water. and the worm knows what the bird will do. the eating. it's what birds do. the worm is okay with this. the worm sees more than we know. they need each other.

sometimes i think the worm is just a patsy condemned by it's nature to a limited life.

sometimes i think the worm is fucking brilliant.

but maybe i'm reading too much into this...