I am in full writing mode these days so it is hard to break for these posts. I am absorbed in my new book so much that I must set two alarms to remind me when it is a weekday and when I must attend my day job. My pug is forced to listen to me tell her the tales I am recording. I have fallen so deeply into my new book that I am scarcely aware of the world around me, so much so that this week when walking Frankie, we were nearly devoured by a giant turtle.
Yes, I know the turtle would not really eat us, but it was huge and what the hell was it doing there on our path? The place I walk Frankie at twilight runs along a ridge, quite a steep climb up from a creek. I suppose that is where the turtle came from. It was just sitting there right on the path making its slow trudge to wherever, mouth open probably more to breathe than to take a bite out of my pug.
We scurried away from the creature, all the while my childhood yelled at me. Had a been a kid, I would have picked up the beast and carried it home with me, created a little sanctuary for it to the chagrin of my mother who at times thought I was playing the part of Noah and preparing for the next flood. Once I had a been a true child of nature. Now I am a slave to mortality, a freak of what time has made me.
Frankie and I returned home from our walk, me feeling that awful twinge that sometimes haunts me. Time is passing. It matters. I am no immortal. Frankie curled up in her customary place, her bed by my writing desk and dreamed as I wrote. The next night the turtle was gone.