Wordsworth Magazine Spring 2022

[Fall of Fall] T u r t l e “Life goes on. If we walk life hoping that no one notices our insecurities and fears, we will always be afraid that someone might find out.”

There was once a cat, white as broken eggshells and hot blue fire eyes that loved to roll crunchy leaves. Crunchy leaves and warm forgotten fires lit with pale fingers, burning out slowly until it invites soft cold. The cat didn’t have a name, no, it didn’t have one. It was alone, but it liked it that way. Fall was its favorite season, November its favorite month, 11 it’s favorite number.

The cat met an owl, an owl with beautiful purple eyes and black feathers, black as dark oceans. When the cat asked its name, the owl simply said that its favorite color was gray.

So the cat decided to call it Gray. Gray was ecstatic to have a name, something to call itself.

Gray and the cat stay together and catch mice bugs.

They laid in cold moonlight akin to being submerged in cool crystal pools. The cat and Gray often take strolls near the apple creek, soft wet soil to bury claws in. One day, they come across an amazing creature, and the cat was mesmerized. It had a hard shell and soft underbelly, and its neck could shrink into its body along with all its limbs.

The cat asked Gray what it was, and Gray said it was a “turtle.” A wondrous thing, truely. The cat loved the name of it, everything about it. Turtles were the cat’s favorite creature, brown and green and pale gray. Gray knew the names of all sorts of plants and animals the cat lacked knowledge of, sharing information about nettles and red clovers.

One day, the cat and Gray were enjoying their stroll 138