When fall comes and you want to hide, you must do this:
Choose the right place.
Go where it is quiet.
Go where there are sticker bushes.
Go where things are the color of your shell.
From above, my shell is the color of bark chips and dead rose leaves.
I can dig down a foot if the earth is soft.
Unfortunately, under the big rose bush it is hard and rocky after six inches.
Still, cover myself up with bark chips and leaves, and They can look for me all night.
Calling.
Shining their waning little AAA pocket flashlights and calling my name.
Go to hell, it’s autumn.
Even just six inches down, it’s temperate and quiet and peaceful.
What if one of them steps on me?
Mother-f*cker
That would suck.
But they’re not going to step directly under no rosebush.
If they do though…
But they’re not.
Their voices fade faster than their flashlight batteries.
They give up and walk off, their office clothes yellow with sunflower pollen.
It is dark and quiet.
It is night, and I am buried and hidden.
Mother-f*cker, put me down.
Sneaky bastard.
Go ahead, put me in the habitat.
I’ve found a possible crack, I’ll climb out tomorrow when you’re at work.
If I don’t fall over onto my back or get wedged in vertically like yesterday.
And furthermore: tortoise, fool. Not turtle.