Today is a big day. I’ll tell you why. I saw my first turtle of the year in this secret pond I know. There is not much I can figure about these critters after two full seasons. They annoy me just as much as last year and I have had only one brief sighting.
I’m the first one there and as still and patient as a blue heron. One thing I’ve learned from being homeless is that if you do absolutely nothing for long enough, something will happen. So there I stand, stoic and still. And sure enough, at a distance of approximately 30 feet, directly below me, at the waters edge, from out of the thicket emerges the critter. He can’t tell I’m there, because I’m in stealth mode.
But I’ve learned to recognize the recognition. My eyesight is not so great these days, but good enough to sense his eyes on mine, sure as shit. Instantly, I start to feel annoyed. And he explodes to the bottom of the pool.
Like I’ve said around the campfire with the boys, what’s the point in having a shell if you’re going to be so nervous? I only wanted to watch.
He has good eyesight, I’ll grant him that. Furthermore, who says turtles are slow? That is not true. So if you have great eyesight, and you are fast as hell, why do you need a shell?
At the end of the last season there were only two turtles, and they were large. Who is this new upstart who is only slightly bigger than small, and so genetically wired for survival? Then it hits me: I am a turtle grandpa. The reason I say this is because the last time I saw the two big ones they were having a romantic encounter. I witnessed it for 1/8 of a second before they spooked. Hot damn, looks like it took.