The Old Stone Tortoise
A multi-generational tale
Originally my mother bought the stone tortoise , placing it in the middle of an island of hostas.
As a young child I liked to sit beside it and considered it my friend.
It was brightly colored then. I think I remember shades of green and blue.
Years of rain and snow and burning sun and the occasional hurricane or two stripped it of paint, leaving behind plain, pitted stone.
When the sad time came that my mother had to sell her home, there was one thing I especially wanted to take away.
The old stone tortoise.
It sits sedately in my small front yard now , surrounded by trailing vinca and honeysuckle vines.
For color it boasts a patina of lichen.
After all these years it has kept its smile. The sly smile of a knowing tortoise who has seen it all and is not in the least surprised.
The older and more battered it becomes, the more I love it.
But isn’t that true of so many things we love?
