Turtle Crossing

As I turned onto the dirt road where I live, I said to myself, "That's a big rock in the road."

Then I realized. It wasn't a rock at all. It was a turtle.

A cuddly, adorable, plodding little turtle.

I braked the car, put it in park, and clicked on the four-way lights, intent on saving my shelled friend from a highly-unlikely-yet-possible demise. I was vaguely nervous because I'd never picked up a turtle.

As my shadow fell over him, he shuddered, and began to pull his legs and head inside the shell. "Cute!" I thought. I bent down and picked him up. I had expected the turtle would be heavier. I thought I felt him breathe--or maybe his heart beating. He must have known, as I set him down in the grass on the other side of the road, that I was a friend, because he began to emerge from the shell even before I put him on the ground.

Saving turtles feels good, it turns out.

Otherwise, I've signed a contract to work here in Culpeper next year, since in my fifty million interviews I didn't manage to land a position anywhere. (I suspect all the offers will be coming in now that I've signed.) It's depressing, but I don't see that I could have made a different choice.

Some day, I may have other, important news, but for now, it's turtles, turtles, stupid job, turtles, turtles.