Animal Activities #36

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When I was small boy, my grandmother always sit me down under mango tree and tell me about Tortoise. She said he was small, slow, but his mind work faster than thunder. Sometimes I think she made the story only to warn us about greed and foolish pride, but I still remember it like it happen yesterday.

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Tortoise, or Testudo like the old Latin say, carry his house on his back. Some people laugh at him, saying he slow like shadow when sun is going down. But the truth be different. He was not weak. He was thinker, a little creature who believe that life is not about rushing. Festina lente—make haste slowly, he always say when people mock his walk.

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Now the story start one bright morning. The birds in the forest, all the bright ones with long feathers and sweet songs, decided to make one big feast in the sky. Every year they do it, and they call it fiesta grande, the great celebration. Tortoise hear the rumor and his heart start to burn with wish. “Why only birds should enjoy?” he ask himself, scratching his rough shell. “I too want to see what happen up there.”

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So he went to where birds gather. He smile wide, the kind of smile that look innocent but hide one clever plan inside. “Bonjour mes amis,” he greeted them in French tone he pick from travelers who once pass through the forest. Some birds giggle, some only tilt their heads. Then he add, “I wish to join your party.”

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The birds laugh loud like drums, feathers shaking. One small finch say, “But, pequeño amigo, you cannot fly. You have no wings.” Others nodded, thinking the matter closed. But Tortoise no give up easy. He know words can open doors that feet cannot reach.

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“I bring stories,” he said, his eyes shining like moon after rain. “Stories that will warm your heart while you eat. If you give me just one feather each, I will make a cloak. Then you can carry me with you, and I will not shame your dance.”

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The birds talk among themselves. They love stories, and Tortoise was known as trickster but also storyteller of wonders. At last, one by one, they plucked small feathers, bright red, green, yellow, blue, even white like snow. Tortoise fixed them onto his shell until he looked like rainbow wearing crown. He called the cloak mi ala, my wing.

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When day of feast arrive, the sky open wide, full of color. The birds rose like river flowing upward, and Tortoise went with them, sitting proud, smiling inside himself. He never dream such joy before.

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The feast was more beautiful than anything his small eyes ever see. The tables shined with fruit, golden bananas, ripe pawpaw, berries that sparkle like gems. Music floated through the clouds, drums like heartbeat, flutes like whisper of wind. Tortoise danced clumsy but happy, his rainbow shell glowing under sun. He thought, “La vie est belle, life is sweet.”

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But in middle of all that beauty, something dark creep into his heart. When food was being shared, he raise his hand and say, “Give everything to me, I will pass it around.” His voice sound kind, his smile friendly, but inside his mind he already plan to keep the sweetest part.

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The birds, having trusting him because of his calm and gentle look, placed the food before him. Tortoise tasted the most fattest yams, the most sweetest honey, the juiciest fruits. He ate and ate, passing only crumbs to others. Some birds did not notice at first, busy with song, but soon they saw his trick. Their joy turned bitter.

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When feast ended, their anger boiled. One eagle stood up and cry out, “We gave you wings, pequeño amigo, and you repaid us with greed. From today, no more feathers for you.” One by one they plucked their feathers back, leaving his shell bare again. His rainbow cloak became dust.

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Now Tortoise stood alone in the sky, looking down at earth far below. He begged, “Please, friends, carry me back.” But the birds turned away, saying, “You wanted everything for yourself, now keep the sky as yours.”

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Then came the fall. Tortoise dropped from the height of clouds, spinning, crying, his shell striking the air like drum. Down, down, down he went until he hit the hard earth with terrible sound. His smooth shell cracked into pieces. The animals of the forest heard the noise and ran to see what happen.

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Tortoise lay there, bruised but alive. The healer among animals gathered the broken pieces of his shell and glued them together. But the marks never went away. From that day his shell carried scars, like map of his greed.

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My grandmother always paused here in story, looking at me serious. “That is why Tortoise back is not smooth. And that is why you must never let greed sit in your heart.” I used to nod even though I was child, because her eyes told me truth was heavy.

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But Tortoise did not stop living. He rose again, though slower than before. He walked among children, telling them stories by firelight. He said, “I fell but I live. The scars remind me that pride can break even strongest shell. Walk slow, think deep, and never let hunger blind you.”

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He even liked to joke about his fall, saying, “I once touched the sky, amigos. My shell may be cracked, but my spirit is not broken.” Some children laughed, some listened with silence. All carried lesson in their hearts.

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Even now, when I see tortoise crawling slow across path, I remember grandmother voice. The Latin words echo: festina lente. Hurry slowly. In Spanish, the saying is actually clear and crystal, despacio se llega lejos—going slowly, you can reach far. And in French, she spoke out calmly, la patience est une fleur qui pousse dans le cœur. Patience is flower growing in the heart.

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The story never leave me. Each time I rush too much, or my desire burn too hard, I think of the fall. The broken shell, the foolish pride, the wise lesson. Tortoise, small but strong, still teaches us today that slow step can carry us far, and greed only makes us fall faster.

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I invite @promisezella @etoro @kwinberry to participate in this contest

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