Persephone

The turtle ponderously makes its way thru the forest, one leg after another, one everlasting step at a time. Overhead, the clouds roll across the partially hidden sky, obscured by the semi-dense canopy of oak, hickory, and pine. The branches of such blown by melancholy notes of a subtle, cool wind. In this moment’s breeze, one might ask, is this some ordinary turtle on some ordinary journey? Suffice to note, and suffice to say, this is no ordinary turtle. Perhaps this turtle comes from a long line of wise and noble turtles, some might even say handsome or beautiful turtles, as turtles fashion-wise may go. But we are not here to judge these qualities of this turtle or its kin, however, we, a select few, have been given a glimpse into this turtle’s happenings, its wonderings… for a time upon a time and again. Why, you may ask? Why indeed?

The turtle, unaware of hidden gazes, trudges on, eyeing its surroundings, watching as the world changes slowly before its half dozing, dimmed, drowsing eyes.

Curiously, you now observe that the turtle is carrying a strange object on its back, you look closer to see what it is, surprised that you had not noticed it prior. The object has a wide base with 4-inch curved vertical walls with the top being open. The object appears to be made of a fused light-colored shell-like material with dark streaks running down the walls and onto the turtles back. Peculiar it seems, and peculiar it is.

Slowly the turtle goes, and slower seems its progress, but ever steady it furthers forward, intent to reach its destination. Looking closer, looking down within the strange compartment born by our stoic traveler, we see a stirring, fluid, motion dark with color and foreboding, yet innocently its flowing, back and forth, and some, with preordained intent, splashing upon the ground around the turtle’s feet. Looking back upon the path, this darkening trail shows upon the earth and there remains its color, painted for those who follow to reflect upon its source.

The turtle looking forth, spies the shadowy outline of its destination in the gathering evening mists, not so far off, about thirty turtle lengths, as turtles go. Ahead, the pearly, green mottled tower, with ropes of ivy girdled round, hints at lost days as the last sun’s light is a foggy halo dimming overhead. The night sets its watch. A simple hedge of juniper and rose, with many colored flowers, rings the tower fifty turtle paces from the tower’s base, with a gate for those passersby who wish to parley with the host within. Seldom though, does this abode find a welcomed visitor, for it evokes a spirit of silence, of distance, and of foreboding mysteries.

Approaching the gate, the turtle finds a small flap in the bottom, just large enough for someone of its size to pass thru, and without hesitation, the turtle nudges the flap up and aside with its beak and passes into the tower’s realm. The path beneath the turtle changes as it enters the tower's grounds, rich, dark earth squishes underneath its feet and between its nails, soft and exquisite is the soil and the turtle delights in its texture, thinking how wondrous it must be to burrow and nest within such fine surroundings. Step by step and so close now, the tower’s long shadow lays across the turtle and its path as it approaches the tower door, dark stained oak finely carved and overlaid with silver traces, designs of ages old and words of greeting, or of warning, long forgotten. Mere paces away, the door opens, silently, slightly, and then more fully, revealing a tall slender shape, dressed in a rough spun cotton robe, olive green with similar silver tracing as upon the door, silver white hair framing an ancient face and flowing down, down past her waist, some in braids, with much still loose, blowing gently in the stilling breeze. A smile plays upon her lips as she sees the turtle at her entrance, her frail, thin hands, and willowy fingers beckoning the turtle enter. The turtle does so, crossing the silver inlaid stone threshold, a threshold that extends around the circumference of the tower’s base, inviting those who are friends, and likewise providing a hedge to those who would do harm.

The aged woman bends down and carefully caresses the turtle under the chin with one long bony finger, while the turtle stretches its scaly neck forth to receive the maximum satisfaction. Its right front foot raises slightly, quivering as it enjoys the touch of this grand lady.

“So, Persephone, how was your travel dear friend? I hope you found a nice warm muddy bottom in a stream or pond as you made your journey, and perchance some grubs to keep hunger away and your belly full. I see you’ve retrieved the substance I asked you to get for me. You are such a good turtle, most worthy of your fine shell, and most worthy of a snack and a warm fresh bed. You know the way, up you go, you will find a warm dish of snails, grub worms, an apple and juicy frog waiting for you,” spoke the lady in friendly tones.

“That sounds delightful,” thinks Persephone. Slowly, and slowly compared to other turtles, Persephone plods over to a far corner, where stands an ornate desk, and next to that desk is a raised platform with a spiral walkway that wraps around the base and leads to the top. The walkway is made of the same soil and grass as the tower green, and Persephone delights in her ascent to the top, hungrily licking her beak in anticipation of the succulent foodstuffs awaiting. After what seems like a forever, she makes it to the top and sees the snails, and grub worms, the apple, and, ‘lip-smack’, the frog, all nicely laid out and ready. Stepping into the platform’s warm sandy mix, she sinks forward and slides perfectly into position, her shell, and head sticking above the sand, but everything else submerged in the warm caressing bath. The food all within easy reach of her eager beak, and in a manner most surprisingly elegant, she begins her dining.

Meanwhile, the wizened lady sits down at the desk beside Persephone and watches her dine. After a time, she reaches forth and places one thin finger upon the base of the turtle’s back where the container and shell meet. A faint glow shines briefly around the container, upon which she takes the container easily from the turtles back and pours the dark contents into a silver inkwell on the desk. She opens the desk drawer and takes out one of several thin, almost translucent pieces of oval shaped leather, colored a dull yellow by age and the dancing candlelight. Taking a silver quill, she dips the end in the inkwell and begins to draw an elaborate design onto the hide. Almost finished, she opens a second drawer and withdraws a worn, black notebook. She opens it and flips thru the pages, finally coming to a stop at one, upon which are written strange, non-sensical words: “A turtle’s price is a pearl of wisdom, as its efforts are a multitude of time once written.”

She continues her work, writing these words and others upon her canvas. Finishing, the old woman glances at the turtle, who has made her way to the frog delicacy, with all remaining, but one small frog leg sticking out of the turtle’s mouth. The turtle’s eyes show signs of contentment, impending sleep, and of an effort well rewarded. The woman once again reaches forth and scratches the turtle under the neck, at which the turtle swallows the last bit of frog leg, gives a big yawn, and tiredly puts her head upon the moist sand and begins to drowse.

Watching for a bit, as the turtle sleeps silently, the woman ponders her evening. She gazes out the window, evening has fallen, and the first silver beams of moonlight are hitting the window frame. Rising, she takes the leather hide and drapes it over the sleeping Persephone, covering her shell completely. Picking up the sleeping turtle, gently and with some effort, the woman carries the turtle towards the door, and out into the night. She turns and goes around to the back of the tower and there, 30 paces or so, an earthen pathway leads to a stone altar. Upon the altar is a soft bed of leaves, grass and earth, and upon the alter she places Persephone. She watches as the moonlight shines magically upon the altar, the turtle’s shell, and the hide. The ink once dark in color, sparkles a purest silver. Placing one hand upon the turtle’s head and one upon its shell, she intones words in a language unknown and rarely spoken, and watches as the silver ink deepens and pulsates in cadence with her intonation. Done, she stays and watches until the moon is risen full and the altar is bathed in silver beams. Departing, she returns to the tower, lingers at the turtle’s bower, and then retires to her bed chamber on the floors above, sleeping light and watchful.

At early morning light a slight dew is upon the landscape as the Lady of the Tower arises. Descending the tower steps, she returns to the altar at the back of the tower. There is no sign of Persephone, but there is something on the altar. In place of Persephone, there is a huge mound of pearls, each flawless. Grasping forth, she takes a fistful of pearls in her impossibly thin hands. A smile glinting in her eyes and playing on her lips, she solemnly speaks. “A fine gross of pearls you have made me dear Persephone, your efforts merit reward indeed.”

Dressing, the old woman places the pearls into a canvas bag and walks into town, seeking out the jewelry maker, a maker of much renown. Seeing her enter, a gleam enters his eyes as he beckons her a seat.

“Madam, you look well, what may I do for you today?” he readily inquires.

“My good sir, would you please give me a price for these fine pearls that I’ve recently, and unexpectedly come into?” she asks with a tilt of her head and an arch to her brow.

Taking an eyepiece, the jeweler examines each pearl, shaking his head often as he does so. “Madam, these pearls are most exquisite and sublime, and it is rare that I have an opportunity to purchase such. Will you take $20,000 for these pearls?”

“Sir, I most assuredly will, and appreciate your generous and unexpected offer.”

Leaving town, the old lady can’t help but to stop by the pet store. While she looks at the turtles, the young lady attendant comes over to help.

“May I help you ma’am?”, asks the young lady.

“Yes, you may, but what happened to the other young lady that worked here? Here name was…?”

“Oh, you must mean Persephone, she doesn’t work here anymore, just didn’t show up to work one day. My name is Amanda, is there something I can help you with?”

“Why of course dear, I am looking for a new turtle, my other turtle wandered away and I miss her so. I like that little turtle there.”

“Oh, ma’am, I think that’s a great choice, shall I get it out and get it ready to go for you?”

“Well, I am not ready for it today, but I can pay for it today, but would ask that you deliver it on the next full moon. Is that something you can do personally?”

“Yes ma’am, I’d be happy to? Anything else?”

“Yes, do please make sure it is a girl turtle, I’ve found out that they turn out the best,” winks the ancient lady as she makes her way out the store and back to her tower.