Lessons from the Turtle

Old for a reason, turtles -- first appearing some 215 million years ago -- have survived and thus have much to teach us young ones.  Watching one this morning, float/walk a few feet, poke nostrils and eyes out in slow motion, then rest on the bottom, I found myself thinking I am like a turtle.

People who sort of know me make assumptions: because I am lively in thought, articulate, dramatic, outspoken on topics about which I know something, they might think I'm impatient and extroverted.

Quite the contrary.

Ask one of my many doctors or nurses (too many over the years) about me, and they would say I am patient and not just a patient: I follow instructions assiduously and I wait to heal, believing that I will.  Ask anyone who knows me well, and he or she will say I'm an introvert, preferring silence to sound, my mind and the play of my own thoughts to those of others.

Like a turtle, I will stick my head out when I need to, but I prefer it pulled in, hidden from view, where I wait.

Walking the same path each day to hunt Odonata for some time now, I have practiced turtle.  This morning, at the bottom of the hill, working my way round the curving lip of the lake, I glimpsed a set of wings thrust forward, with darkened edges, and knew Swift Setwing.  Too far away for strong focus, either with my eyes or with my camera.  And too quickly gone in flight.

I might have walked on.  But I didn't.  I moved closer to the branch and waited, and waited, and waited -- until the Setwing returned and basked on a sunny leaf next to my right knee.  I studied him and got my photograph, the first decent one since finding one the first time a year ago.

I have learned this about turtle: it isn't that slow and steady wins the race as Aesop would have us believe; slow and steady is the race. 

At least when it comes to stalking insects and the rich rewards of patience.