I've never a dull moment, even when I'm alone in my reading/writing/blogging room. When I'm doing my favorite things and I'm certain that I'll have no distractions whatsoever for the remainder of the evening, a lady shows up. She doesn't ask if she can join me, in fact, she doesn't even inform me that she's in the vicinity.
It's not as upsetting and startling as it may sound, you see, for the lady is a bug. In all honesty, I welcome my cute little ladybug friend. I'm surprised she's alive and well in the middle of the winter season in Wisconsin.
She likes my laptop as you can see and she loves to plop down on my book when I'm reclined in my chair, reading. I always pause and watch her travel up, down or across the page. She doesn't care much for novels and doesn't stay long among the many words. Soon, the light over my shoulder catches her eye and she, quite clumsily and abruptly, lifts off and disappears under the lampshade.
Do you recall this nursery rhyme?
Fly away home.
Your house is on fire
And your children all gone.
All except one,
And that's little Ann,
For she crept under
The frying pan.
Perhaps that's what draws the ladybug to the light. The next time she heads up, up and away, toward the light bulb, I'll whisper to her that she needed worry. It's not a fire.