June 2, 2020

Turtle Crossing

I hew close to the ground,
cutting a line from a wintering pond
                        to a summering pond
through mow-spared grass,
tall, threaded with wildflowers.

I have made this journey
many times, ported my own shelter
                        enough seasons
to know the new heft it takes
on each year. I put on mass.

By now, I'd make a pricey
meal for any predator so inclined:
                       only the foolish
or the uninitiated would risk a
toe or nose for me now.

But I harbor no illusions:
I am still game for those with
                      guns and gasoline.
I carry no shelter against
cruelty and carelessness.

So, venerable ancient or no,
I haul my accumulated mass up to
                      the edge of the road.
I take my chances with the rest
of Creation, begin to cross over.