Food for thought on a diet of worms

I was walking home this morning -- it had rained overnight, and I noticed in the middle of the street, there was a worm, just lying there. I don't know what I was expecting because worms, it seems, rarely sit up, but he was lying there and it got me thinking. Why was the worm crossing the road? Given the size of the worm and the width of the road, this must have been a very important journey, well conceived and planned for. Worms usually stat in the grass and dirt areas but this one felt compelled to set out across a street and I wonder why. The fact is, given the speed at which worms move, I sense that he was doomed from the get-go. It might have been raining then, but could he truly have expected that the rain would continue long enough for him to work his way over to the other side? Are worms often overly optimistic? Do they lack the kind of meteorological resources that can help them anticipate a sudden lack of rain which spells their demise? Can we learn important lessons about the perseverance, grit and tenacity of the common earthworm or should we make note of their short-sightedness and devil-may-care attitude about their own mortality. Do we see in them the fortitude which drives them to inch along in search of something greater, or just their apparent stupidity when they start a trip without packing the essentials. When we look down at the worm, should we be looking up at the worm, or down on the worm? Is the worm the symbol for all the best of what we can be when we don't let ourselves be daunted by challenge, or does the worm represent our worst self, refusing to accept our situation and its limitations and foolishly risking everything for an impossible dream?

So tilt at those windmills, worm. Give us pause as we consider how we should learn from you. And also, sorry about those cars and that you are dead.