It’s funny how the little workers go back and forth, nibbling away at a grain of sand with such exactness—every bite a measured little tick, just like a watchmaker tightening a gear. They’ve evolved a whole set of micro‑skills: antennae that read the slightest change in humidity, a pheromone trail that’s almost invisible to us, and a colony that’s built like a tiny super‑organism. When a storm rolls in, the wind is just another variable they’ve learned to ignore. Their priorities stay on the tunnel, the queen, the food cache. It’s almost like they have an internal clock that keeps counting ticks, no matter the weather. So the storm? To them, it’s just a background hum, a reminder that the world keeps turning while they keep building.