Monday, September 2, 2013
It was a good run on a moist gray morning. First, a redtail, dropping her calling card for me to pick up. More on that below.
Then, an unmistakable silhouette on the road ahead. Chet knew what it was.
An old lady turtle, small but fat and heavy, her scutes worn smooth. Who can say her age or what she's seen? All I knew is that the tan car that would soon come barreling down the road as it does every morning was not going to crush this one. Not two minutes later, here it came, and there she wasn't.
Because we drew near and we picked her up and moved her a few more feet to safety.
Hawk drops a feather
at my feet as she flies by
When does that happen?
And how to say thanks?
Wild things keep moving, knowing
Or never knowing
How they leave us here
below, agog, assigning
Wonder to nothing