Beneath the tar paper covering the edge not yet covered with plywood, there huddled a group of stinkbugs.

The sun warmed the rich smelling paper as the blackness absorbed the heat. An island of relief for an insect needing heat for better living and mobility.

However, their residence was in the way of work. They needed to be moved or move or suffer a fate of being nothing more than stink.

A slow moving finger pushed them away where as they fell so many inches, they all took wing.

Flying individual in so many directions, trying to find a new place to huddle and find heat.

Is this how humanity is? Huddled? Trying to find comfort as a herd?

Not me as I need no one giving me a finger so I can fly. It is better to survive alone in a cruel, cold world. Actually, the closest thing to being free.