Sedona Spirit: Turtle Walk
A dusty-gray turtle rests solidly on the slick surface of the dresser.
Carved smooth by a Navajo from Sedona, grooved edges the only sharpness,
he is far from home.
I imagine his slow crawl westward, his longing for the gritty feel of the
hot desert sand beneath his feet.
As he tries to dig his claws into the slipperiness beneath him,
he is motion in stillness.
Slow moving by nature, his turtle walk is meant to inspire me to slow the
frantic dance of my own feet.
I lift him in the palm of my hand, feet still struggling,
my dance now his.
When I look into his sad eyes, I see myself,
all I am and all I long to be.
I rub my fingers longingly, lovingly one last time over the hard,
smooth surface of his back,
and I set him free.
© Barbara Flass 2002