Two turtles on a log, baking in the sun like muffins. One had his head down, Eeyore-fashion; the other, smaller, gazed seemingly aloft – though whether that gaze extends to the seven heavens, or only to the end of its nose, no-one knows.
I stood a long time looking, from the shade, contemplating this quirky handiwork of Him who sculpted us, from His celestial bar of soap. For as the lion stands (though falsely) as an emblem of courage, so might the turtle serve (with better warrant) as a symbol of humility. And thus, I stood at length, as the shadows lengthened, that I might mayhap find instruction by their example; much as our forefathers bade us, Get ye to the bees.
And at last, the little one bent her head, in what truly seemed a gesture of tentative friendship, or concern.
The minutes passed (leisurely); the silhouettes stock-still against the sunset; and at length, the gesture was repeated, a little more urgently. So far, no response from Eeyore.
Do turtles fall in love? Perhaps, perhaps; just,
very slow-ly . . .
very slow-ly . . .
~
(For additional epiphany, click here: )
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