By Jane La Mantia de Pencier
The turtles don’t seem to mind that I’m sharing the rock with them here at the top of the French River in Ontario, Canada. Clearly I’m still enough so as not to disturb them, dumbstruck as I am, here in the reptile warming sun.
I guess I know how they feel covered over with a carapace. I’ve recognized in my thinking some assumptions, and what are assumptions if not a desensitizing exoskeleton? I’ve just read Richard B. Wright’s October.
