Monday, September 12, 2011

"The Turtle" by Eliza Draper Gardiner

The air is still, and it is a quiet, cool-blue autumn day. The door to the kitchen has just slammed shut, and I move closer to the house, attracted to the sound of  water being drawn in the kitchen.

I clumsily crawl up two steps on short limbs and under the weight of my over-sized head. Baggy overalls and sleeves just get in my way. I notice you, and you notice me. You, also burdened by stubby limbs and the weight of your shell, lumber across the ground that I've just abandoned on my way up.

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