Part 3: Now Quite the Turtle Tale

A cottonwood's mere seedling drifted quite aloft

with flaring help of weensy parachute ...

and overwafted, searching purposefully for the gentlest

of crash landings in the softly curdling

water's way.

Old Turtle quite ignored the small-fry

airborne germ to veer her ponderous head

back down to peer across the narrow stream

right back at me.

Quite at my face, that is.

Intently.

Black-and-yellow-orange bumblebee,

engrossed in soothing self-talk, buzzed

from nearby wildflower to wildflower ...

and busily inspected, then rejected,

honeyed dusty contents, in behavior matching

any ardent human shopper who might

pressingly investigate all tags presented

at a clothing springtime's clearance sale.

Old Turtle cleared her throat

as though she'd set her mind to speak.

The cottonwood's wandering seed then found,

and quite to her delight, a watery driftless lee ...

and landed, floating on the surface ...

quietly and wetly prim atiptoe.

Black squirrel sudden ceased his jungle-gymming ...

and his otherwise so ceaseless, senseless chattering.

Bumblebee abruptly quit her mad inspections

(and her busy droning) to engage in wakeful listening.

I gave Old Plumbrook Turtle my entire ...

entire attention.

Turtle, just not one to beat about the bushes

by the oily stream, then said unhurriedly,

and with a single eye-held-open squinting effort, 

"Once ... up ... on ... a ... time,"

and promptly fell ... quite fast asleep.

Indeed.

Within the next spare minutes of the waning

morning, in the soothing, warming sunlight

as I marked the seeming cue, so then did I.

If I may add: quite blissfully.

(the end)