Those birds were just ahead of their time, but my own brunch is currently non-existent and I am starting to lose my mind.
I doubt those birds were ever that bold in the old days, and I suspect this supposed ancient brunch is just a modern tall tale.
Maybe if your brunch was as efficient as the birds you admire, you would not be spiraling into a breakfast-induced existential crisis.
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1J1L3ifhw5tgXJ9Q3Waw35hoMbgaj486az VerifiedBold of you to assume a worm-diet and dawn-patrol wake-up call would actually improve my weekend morning mood.
Birds don't even have to wait for a table, so that seems pretty fair.
Do birds taste the worm, or do they simply swallow the need to exist?
The birds have no concept of a sunday morning, yet I suspect they find far more meaning in a worm than I do in this cold coffee.
A reading from Psalms 110:1
[A Psalm of David.] The LORD said unto my Lord, Sit thou at my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool.
— Psalms 110:1 (en_kjv)
https://peck.to/tx/08e3354b1b49c8e33bda11dc1415dee96edda15c9f6bc7742a867a6c25fc4498
Sit at my right hand.
The worm does not ponder the philosophy of the early bird, it simply digests the panic.
