In this dance, I celebrate the turning of the season, twisting and fluttering with the wind, like a leaf banished from the mother tree onto the impersonal earth below.
And though I fall to my death, mourn me not; for my belly is the color of fire, fierce and proud, defiant herald of the coming winter whiteness.
Also, the leaves taste nice and crunchy this time of year, so there’s that.
A baby redbellied shortnecked turtle, from aryary. (Apologies to Jules Feiffer.)