100 wc

Back when I was young enough to invent and trust in my own Boy Scout knot, I tied a tape-recorder to a turtle’s shell and set it free. The first hard rain must’ve broken the flimmsy thing, but I like to pretend it recorded the rain without breaking. This way, if the turtle ever returned, I could listen to the silent sounds teeter throughout the hum of the forest Maybe I’d hear my voice as a child telling him not to go too far. Or maybe I’d only hear him passing through the tall grass and, very slowly, going too faar.