I’m envying the sunbathing turtles across the pond, flippers splayed upon the muddy beach and heads raised to the sunshine.
Most days they come and settle in for hours—the mud on the edges of their shells and skin drying to charcoal grit.
Oh the luxury, the decadent extravagance—to sink deeply into the earthen shoreline and respond to the ancient rhythm inscribed
at creation that took six days or sixty million years and one single breath. I wonder do the turtles jockey over prime beach spots and
leave markings when they pack up for the day to secure certain pond real estate like we leave beach towels behind and iced Yeti cups?
©️Bonnie Saul Wilks