Will the ladybird ever know?
Will the ladybird ever know that the giant hand that snatched her and threw her out in the open, so vehemently, belonged to a man who breathes and feels and fears (with tears, occasionally) and smiles, once in a blue moon? "It is the ultimate earthquake, the terminal world shake", the ladybird thought as she surrendered with prayer to the giant hand that belonged to a man with a heart fairly decent, intentions increasingly good and habits unfailingly wretched. Will the ladybird ever know that the giant hand once touched the giant man's quivering lip to blow a kiss to another warm-blooded giant? That it falters at times? That it draws lilies and penguins and planets and once in a blue moon, a wee black-spotted red-winged princess who's bound to chance upon a saviour.