The children were the first to notice.

A thump thump thump, thundering deep below the sand.

The first worm split the sky like black lightning as it leapt overhead.

Worm by worm, they rose from the desert. Migrating.

Every storm season, we each hope to be chosen. We arrange ourselves in lines across the desert, arms lifted to the sky.

Anyone may enter the maw.

We are all equal under the great worms.

I've been posting my writings for so long that when I want to share something that is not an original writing . . .