Roger Pfingston

Lodged tight for days in a corner of the wall, ladybug can’t resist the tree, crawling now over cold light, ceramic fruits, tinsel lamb and sleigh. Flies out of the tree to try rum cake on a plate of caroling cherubs. Ends up on her back, wings flared, silly girl spinning over the kitchen floor. Later, between the blinds, tiny bump of silhouette: a stillness against the falling snow.