Turtles coming to the beaches again this summer to lay their eggs.
Under the tropical moon
sea turtle slowly, inexorably
leaves her element for the foreign strand
the once graceful wings
are now clumsy flippers
What was sleekly suspended
weightless on the breast of the wave
is now heavy and earthbound
are covered with the suffocating sand
but the ancient song is sung
and the tide can not be ignored
She plows the wet sand
an ancient armored chariot
covered with barnacles
What voice tells her where to nest?
What secret scent led her to this beach, this dune?
The moon rises higher
while the clutch of leathery eggs is laid
She covers the future with sand
and monumentally slow turns again to the sea
The first wave frees her of the clinging sand
and looses again the wings
that will carry her to the deep.
– Ken Peters