Swarms of Insects Ascend to the Sky

The worms under the grass don't look up in admiration for the soaring eagles. What they yearn for must be themselves with wings. Even if they don't say it, even if they don't do it, they don't know where to start. There is no need to know where this intention comes from, and there is no need to rush for success. First, make yourself fat, first enjoy the licorice, cherish the love in front of you first, first finish the unfinished business, and then bathe in the sun that belongs only under the grass again, until the wings grow. Worms, at this moment, we no longer dwell on the good and evil in the past. Who helped whom, who harmed whom, we have written them off. We are all good, we each grow our own wings, we want to fly together to see who can fly faster, we want to fly far, we want to leave the soil and reach the sky, and then start a new life there. At that time, there will be many opportunities for us to get entangled, either with grievances or resentments, or to shake hands and make peace, or to have fun over wine. Until the fate is over, they are still happy.