nature is fucking lit

(As chronicled from my wife's backyard Dill plant)

Dill was still eating. And not just nibbling—devouring. If there were a medal for Most Dill Consumed by One Caterpillar in a Single Day, Dill would’ve already won it... twice.

The morning dew had barely dried on the dillweed when Dill resumed his mission: munch. chew. wiggle. repeat. He had one job right now, and it wasn’t making friends or writing poetry—it was becoming big enough to explode into something with wings.

Between bites, he occasionally looked up at the fennel seeds like they were nosy neighbors. “Don’t judge me,” Dill muttered through a mouthful. “I have goals. Big, floaty, beautiful goals.”

He noticed a few birds fly overhead. He paused. Froze. Practiced his "I'm-just-a-stem" impression. It was terrible. One of the birds blinked. Then blinked again. "Yeah, okay, that one’s not even trying," it chirped before flying off. Dill exhaled. "That was close..."

But danger aside, Dill had no plans to leave his dillweed palace anytime soon. The view was great, the food was free, and his belly had room. So, onward he munched, stripey and determined, soaking up sun and savoring every bite like he knew:

Soon, his world would change. Soon, this wild green jungle would fade away. But for now?

It was still Dill’s time to eat.