I was sitting at a picnic table at Rock Bridge State Park this morning, working on song texts, when there was motion in the corner of my eye. It was a turtle emerging from the woods and slowly—agonizingly slowly—making its way up the little knoll where the shelter house sits. Turtles, I reflected, are supremely ugly creatures. This one had a flat shell, and it labored up the hill with its huge feet splayed out to either side. It would take about eight awkward steps and then sink into the lush grass as if someone had let all the hydraulic oil out of it. It would lie there for a minute or two and then start upward again.
At first, I thought it was just resting. But then it reached the top of the hill, not ten feet away, and it planted itself with its muddy head pointed straight at the sky. For five minutes, I watched it sit there, motionless except for its flabby neck, which moved in and out as it breathed. Every so often its head would turn a fraction, and it would stare at a different cloud shape, or tree top, and it would look some more. It was as if the turtle was praising God for the ever-shifting view of trees swaying in the wind, the change in light as the storm clouds moved in, the sound of a bird chattering on the other side of the clearing.
No doubt there is some rational biological explanation for what I saw, but it struck a chord with me. After all, isn’t that what I was doing out there? Taking my work with me to a secluded spot where I can soak in the silence and commune with God, who inspires my work?
It was the most refreshed I have felt in a long time. What a gift nature is.
2 Responses
Hee hee. I have a strong affection for turtles. I think turtles are cute. I’m not sure where this affinity comes from- but they’re in my top five.
During my run the other day I ran across one. He was quite cute, about the size of my hand, rich dark patterns on his skin. He felt that the other side of the road was better and was in the process of falling off the sidewalk into the road.
I was a bit afraid to touch him, as I child I would have hesitated but picked him up pretty quick giving no thought to how sharp his beak might be. Now, I pause. That pause (and sometimes backing off) happens more and more frequently now. I suspect it means I’ve acknowledged that my life here on earth is as a mortal. And I really am not done living yet.
Anyway, my fear of regret that he might die smushed on the street or eaten by the approaching dog overpowered my fear of a good turtle bite. As I logically knew, he was much more afraid of me and immediately disappeared into the shadows of his shell.
I put him on the newly mulched landscape beside me. He was a fast little guy and he took off loping up the gentle slope.
The dog, his owner and I watched as he scrambled up. Pretty agile for something encumbered by the nature of it’s anatomy. And while we’re being philsophical- isn’t that what we’re all doing? Making do with what we’ve been given and scrambling awkwardly up our own little mole hills?
Anyway, I just think it’s funny that you called them “supremely ugly” while I find them endearing and cute. Granted, that’s not quite the opposite of supremely ugly. But how refreshingly different we are. 🙂
Love you
C
Well, I’ll grant you some of them can be cute. This guy was not. 🙂 Nor was he small. He was a good-sized sucker, a couple of feet from head to shell-bottom.
But I’m glad you saved your turtle. I remember Dad running over one (by accident) on the way to church one morning. We’ve never seen a turtle move so fast!
It’s been raining here a lot, and the worms are attracted to our garage. Whenever I open the garage door, a whole bunch of them start moving from the wet spot beneath it up into the shelter. Alex can’t stand it. He wants me to get rid of them before he takes his toy jeep out. I can’t stand to touch them (I’m a wuss, okay?), so the other day I spent 15 minutes trying to scoop them up with a piece of paper, and transporting them to the flower beds and tree pads.