Arboretum Diary

"He is there, hiding in this dry, clean, narrow den which he owns and fills, completely; he's as swollen as a miser's purse." Renard, from "The Toad"












5/22


As close as five feet away, gradually, slowly having stalked to the edge of the dock at Teal Pond, sat down and dangled my legs over the side, it seems it might be a bit insensitive watching the turtle family go about their morning rituals of sunning and swimming.  In through the pond duckweed and water flower, the small ones are nearly transparent at certain angles rising up from the depths of the water, as their small flippers scoot through the muck only to shine like a great rounded jewel of brown ceramic. A little one struggles to climb the outcropping of a limb. It must be a slippery surface years in the making of green goo. Once up, here is where the above world of warmth grows. They must be thinking, from bottom up, from top down, what comfort!  Mother doesn't move a step but wrenches her stub head around to provide me a pleasant stare. A light wind scoots across the surface of the pond churning up the minutest of white caps. She raises her head to cool her neck.