The story I am going to tell happened many years ago in the countryside of an unspecified city. IT was summer and all the trees were green and filled all over with colored flowers.
Close to a big tree, an ant and a cicada were living their lives as neighbords, or better, as acquaintances. The ant was there building up her nest, while the cicada was above all, going around that part of the country, enjoying the beautiful sunny days, and the fleeting friendships of some crickets.
During the day the ant used to work hard; she always had something to do, like raising food or heaping up little pieces of straw to protect and strengthen the refuge for her and all the family.
If the cicada was not sleeping, she was surely singing and kidding her friend at work for that fool mania of wasting time in the uselessness of the work.
At night the ant intended to rest after so much work, but generally the cicada was giving her performance right on that tree, and it was impossible to close her eyes.
One day the ant heard a knock at the door during the early morning, so she glanced out the window, and saw all the landscape covered with snow.
Winter had arrived, and the easy cicada, without a warm nest, was looking for one; the ant opened the door just a little bit and said: "Sorry, but there isn't a place in this house for those persons who don't understand the utility of work." The cicada went away, and was never seen again.