The Turtle and the Salt Path

At sunset, the water in the salt pans turned pink.

The distant windmills seemed to stand still, guarding the sky, and the salt, gathered in small heaps, shone like warm snow. In that place lived Tarta, an old turtle who knew every slow road.

Every evening she went from the flat stone to the shallow pool where the Moon looked at herself. The journey was not long, but Tarta took a great deal of time.

The lizards laughed.

“You will arrive tomorrow!”

Tarta was not offended. “If I arrive whole, I arrive in time.”

One evening, however, even she was in a hurry. She wanted to see the Moon rise inside the pink water, because it happened only on certain nights. She quickened her pace, as much as a turtle can quicken.

At once she lost the path. In front of her were salt crystals, little streams, bird tracks, and small pools that all looked the same.

“Oh.”

She tried turning right. Too wet. Left. Too much salt. Back. She no longer recognized the stone.

Then she heard a thin voice.

“More slowly.”

It was the salt beneath her feet.

“If you hurry, you crush me. If you go slowly, I guide you.”

Tarta breathed. She took a very slow step.

One crystal shone.

Another step.

Another crystal.

The path had not disappeared. It lit up only at the right speed.

Tarta moved like this: step, light, breath. Step, light, breath.

The lizards, who had laughed before, stopped to watch. The salt path looked like a necklace laid out on the earth.

When Tarta reached the pool, the Moon had just appeared. She had not missed it. In fact, she had reached it at the exact moment.

The Moon reflected herself in the pink water and said, “Do you see? Some beauties do not run away. They wait for those who know how to arrive.”

Tarta smiled.

From that evening the lizards no longer mocked her. Sometimes, when they could not find the way among the pools, they walked beside her.

“More slowly?” they asked.

“More present,” answered Tarta.

And the salt, beneath patient feet, shone.