Sans the hands of time, it was all stopped. Him, there, on the grass. The tiny lady bug occupied his attention. It would walk up and down his fingers. Index to middle, in between and onto his palm. And he'd twist his wrist, raise his hand and/or tilt his head to follow it. He thought it peculiar that no sensation of teeny tiny legs stamping a trail on his hand was felt. What was also odd, he was a whole universe.

The lady bug could walk and walk and walk. It could explore. It could have traveled a great distance. All this and he'd still be in the same spot on the grass (which was probably imprinted by his rear by then having sat there for so long). But how long until the ladybug was done exploring? As big as his arm was to the lady bug, he wasn't too sure about letting it roam on top of his body, inside his shirt. Well, maybe not just yet.

He decided he'd give it something else to roam. A twig. He picked it up, which was sitting to the side of his crossed left leg, and put it in front of the bug. And from his arm, without missing a step, walked right onto the twig.

The twig wasn't very long and simply acted as a bridge from his right hand to his left for the lady bug. He kept his eye on it, watching it circle his arm like a barber pole.

This continued on. He'd intently watch the lady bug walk his hand and arm, prop it onto the twig to switch arms and watch it all over again. Sometimes he'd rotate the twig so that the lady bug was upside down. It amused him that it could stay on the twig like so.

A gust of wind came while the lady bug was on it's bridge and took the twig from his hands. He didn't want it to go yet so he chased after. The lady bug had fallen a shorter distance than the twig and he stepped on it without realizing in his frantic chase to keep it near.

He found the twig, but not the lady bug. He never knew what happened. Everything began to move again, except for the moment he was there, on the grass, watching the lady bug stamp it's teeny tiny legs on his arms.