The buzzing commences once again, signaling the passing of another stale 15 seconds. I glance from my desk to the desolate scene of leafy green plants and passing soil, dry sediments stumbling down the hill. Somewhere along the edge of the glass window the annoying fly begins to sound and, sigh upon sigh, I continue rearranging numbers and scribbling answers. It is half past three now, and despite my progress my tasks do not seem even the slightest complete. Page after page I toil with the problems, twirling in my chair and wishing to be done. Just as my mind begins to drift, I am again startled by the persistent cries of the fly. The small, salient creature is undoubtedly wishing there were an aperture, enabling it to soar the aerial landscape and discover its reflection from the window pane of another. The rays of light cast a path through the grasses, beckoning it onwards, and I too wished for a second to be that fly. With wings and the prospect of endless exploration, the bland backyard scene would transform from a static still-life to a source of ample vitality. My worries would shift from completing papers to safeguarding my survival, matched with species larger and quicker. I would swiftly travel from one flower bud to the next, each second feeling like an hour. Then I would venture above the wooden fence to a blue cottage house, with yet another glass protrusion overlooking a world of chaos. I would situate myself on the ledge, watching from afar as the many systems interact. The leafy green plants greet the small insects, and my wings beckon me to flutter on without hesitation. I, a mere fly, resist the innate desire of endless adventuring, and continue to spectate the scene, until the window opens to an even broader horizon. As I glide from the precious summer warmth into the artificially cooled room, I have no choice but to resume buzzing. I would maintain this degree of irritation until released from my confinement, welcomed by the outside vista that had become my new home.