The Best of Things, and Turtles

A late night nattering with wine and tea and the following challenge put forth: Tell your ten favorite moments. Rather trite, yes? Well, maybe not. I thought of a few and in thinking of those moments my self-pity, self-doubt, and feelings of inadequacy evaporated in a small, foul-smelling puff of steam.

Those moments of joy I discovered rattling around in my memory made me fond of myself! They even came in categories, these moments of joy: nature, which is the source of all random acts of beauty; childbirth and one’s children, the most amazingly inescapable responsibility there is; performance, when  you know you have communicated something special; performance again, when you are enchanted by the performer; art, the moment you love your creation and the moments you spend adoring another’s creations; friend; and family; and the sweet feel of childhood when ignorance and wonder kept you safe and warm.

My number one, most amazing experience was watching sea turtles lay their eggs. It was a beach on an island off the coast of Georgia and I was with a local lad who knew just where to be and when. I’m sure he would have told the Park Rangers, if they had thought to ask. So while they waited on a beach around the bend, we sat behind a large rock not more than 8 feet away from where the turtles would come.

The moon was full and the seaside was bathed in gentle white light. We waited for hours until suddenly and slowly six  large magical creatures emerged from the shallow water. In synchronicity the powerful and independent creatures were driven by the same ancient instinct as they moved slowly and persistently across the sand.

They all stopped and dug at the same time and the same distance from the sea. Their flippers carved nesting places in the sand. Then they were still for ages it seemed. Then they all covered their nests, turned back towards the sea and lumbered over the sand into the water and went away. Only the moonlight was left, and six little mounds of sand with a trail of flipper marks leading into the sea.

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