Scraps: Ladybugs

It’s the middle of winter but you wouldn’t know it in here. The wood furnace outside is chocked full and the thermostat’s set at 80. My mother’s going through menopause but we aren’t allowed to say it, so we all sleep like we’re in the tropics, while outside the overhangs are covered with ice. The fields and trees have that sharp crystalline look tonight, and up here in my old room, I’m stripped down to my boxers to stay cool. I crack the front window and a burst of night air touches my skin.

Ladybugs sputter around the ceiling in droves. They migrate inside in winter. They cover the ceiling and walls, swarm to the light when you turn it on, craw in your hair and on your clothes, and try as you might there’s nothing to be done with them. You sweep them up, they come back again.