Crossing

 by Caroline Johnson

Today I came across
a painted turtle
as I was bicycling 
near a canal.

He had stopped in
the middle of the trail,
head erect, all limbs
exposed, waiting.

He seemed stuck in the
moment, moving neither
forward nor backward,
trapped in time.

I thought of you,
dear father, moving
across unstable ground,
gripping your cane
and hovering for
a brief moment

before the storms
set in.