None of the fire ants loved sand bags. They were not sure of their existence or purpose, but only too familiar with their mirage. They would carry them to and fro, haul them down undulating streams of glass, or even build mountains of them to dance upon, but in their deepest hearts, the fire ants despised the sandbags, and perhaps even sand itself. To work is to carry a certain weight for a certain distance for a certain time, and a fire ant can lift and carry a hundred times its own body weight. The sand, however, is the very blast of time; it is weight atomized; a magic lantern one cannot eat. It is not work. It is far more suspicious.