A turtle (fish) story

This morning’s rain was inviting—
partly, because it was a light, misty moistness that felt good to breathe in,
and partly, because it freshened the colors that had become dull and lifeless in the summer’s heat.
I chose breathing over photography, and went out to walk, leaving the camera behind—safe and dry on the kitchen table.
For almost an hour, I lingered along the trails, my shirt becoming fairly damp, my hair absorbing the humidity to the point of a drip finding its way down my forehead. Just as I was ready to start back to the house, I encountered a box turtle at the green, grassy edge of the woods.
He was large and beautifully yellow, more so than any I’d ever seen. Brightened by the rain, he almost glowed. Motionless, poised at the trail’s edge, he peered up at me with bright red eyes. And didn’t move.
I weighed the choices before me, carefully. I could take this treasure with me, back to the house, snap a picture, and return him to this spot…or I could leave him here, run quickly and return with the camera. How far could a turtle go in a few minutes? And, how hard would it be to find a large, yellow turtle, anyway?

I ran…and so did he, for when I returned to the spot, he was gone.

And as I scoured the ground around me, I noticed what I hadn’t seen before. The leaves have begun to fall, turning the woods…yellow.