Our turtle, Trevor by decree, greets our friends on the stairs leading down to our future garden. By nature slow, in water, buoyed by salt and waves, turtles are weightless. Years ago, shoulders heavy from my lost mother, in Hawaii’s warm blue, a turtle rose up to greet me and floated there. I’m still, eyes agape, wonder filling me, smiling. We broke bread, spoke awhile, I bowed to it with pressed hands and egg-beater legs. The ancient years collapsed into a moment then, and then again when I placed our Trevor just there, just where he could surprise, and spark a memory.
Tom Schabarum | Writer 