Intution

Following a voice that speaks to her more deeply than any god, the lumbering female slips onto the beach long after the beach combers have packed up their towels, picnics and sand trowels and headed home for dinner. She sniffles around for some moments, nauseated perhaps by the remnant of the days activities, in search of an unsoiled spot. Finally satisfied she settles in and digs, hind flippers a flappin', a deep enough hole to provide a sandy womb for her centaplets (100+). After some time her quiet labor is finished and she blankets her unborn in their sandy nest. She pats it smooth until it is nearly invisible to the untutored eye, gazes down and gives a final silent farewell. She turns back to her watery home as the voice from within assures her that the unborn will hatch, waddle to the water and follow her and the other sea turtles out into the deep where they will rollick and roll on the waves, swim among the jellyfish and graze on sea grass. The sea turtle lives on...  

 

for today