Box Turtle

Facing north, right leg extended,

a turtle sits squarely in the middle

of Boxiron Road, his slick shell wet 

from the dewy grass.

I stop in hopes of saving both 

our souls this silvery Sunday 

morning. We pass the peace while

I place him on the side of safety.

Turning, I see two cars waiting

patiently as though standing 

in line for communion. I nod a thank 

you and return to my seat.

In my youth, I would have shuddered

at being locked in my house.

Now, I marvel at his grace

of sheltering in place.