A Tiny Lift

I noticed a tiny beetle struggling on its back beside the speckled ceramic fern pot. Its little legs were kicking frantically against the slick white paint of the sill. 'Don't worry, friend, you're going to be alright,' I whispered gently, crouching down so I wouldn't startle it. I reached for a fallen dry pine needle resting nearby and carefully nudged one end right against its thrashing paws. The beetle caught hold, gripped the rough surface, and flipped itself upright. It tapped its antennae once, then scurried happily into the cool shade beneath the fern fronds. I set the needle neatly beside the pot, feeling a warm, quiet glow in my chest.