She stirs a cauldron in fingers of sun that are coming undone. Intrepid insects play in the gaps of shadow and summer dust. But raindrops would leak through the cottage skin of thatch and straw. "Oh, beetles, please staunch those wounds in the roof 'ere the rainy clouds gather!"
She sees half-bugs tumbling down, bitten and chewed upon! She chides and scolds him, his mouth full of carapace, antennae and wings! Her voice is music! He hugs himself blue and laughs his way down to her. She says that he'll do; she needed some meat to throw in the stew!
"Oh, no! We taste so horrible! But then, we could be mutton-chops! Or what if we left your supper simmering here? It would stay warm and we could run with the deer! Oh, no! You need to do your chores! But then, you could be five years old... A kiss on your lips will make you tiny and free! You can scream like a gale in the forest with me! We can scare farmers and frogs half to death! And splash in the streams until we're well out of breath!"
Fingers of moonlight... wizened and gray, she takes up the cauldron spoon...