Glimma curls under a daisy petal. The willow moss drips. Drip. Drip.
Then she freezes — a tiny red-and-black speck trembles at the base of a stem.
Cold drops land on the leaf beside her. The speck tilts its head up.
"Where's mama?" the little bug squeaks.
Glimma uncurls her lantern. Gold light spills over the leaf, like tiny green stars.
"Follow my glow," she whispers. The baby ladybug scoots forward.
They waddle between the scattered daisies. Under the willow's lowest branch, a big ladybug waits.
Her antennae tap the dirt. Tap. Tap. Tap. The baby lunges.
Mama scoops it under her wing. Glimma's glow bounces off the big shell.
The garden goes still. Only the moss sways. Glimma drifts back to her daisy petal.
She settles in. Her glow stays on — low, steady, spilling over the edge.
The willow sways above. Where her light lands, the daisies look soft and kind.
She blinks her lantern. Slow. Slow.
Slow. Slow. The garden sleeps.
