Microscopic specks on a pile of dirt. Rushing around reshaping their world. Never quite satisfied with their environment, always making changes. Looked at under a magnifying glass, they seem kind of ugly. Not sure of some things, seemingly too sure of others. The work as a singular unit, directed by some unseen need. Generations come and go, yet nothing of their basest selves seems to change. Always the same, scurrying around digging holes and making changes. Aren't humans the most curious creatures, if only we were more orderly like Ants in a farm?