Tuck the Little Turtle Who Carried His Home
By the edge of a still green pond, where the lily pads floated and the reeds swayed slow, lived a little turtle named Tuck.
All the other creatures were so fast. The dragonflies zipped. The frogs leaped. The little fish flashed silver through the water. And Tuck… Tuck was slow. Step. Step. Step. He watched everyone hurry past, and sometimes he sighed. "I wish I were quick," he said. "I'm always the last one everywhere."
But as the sun went down and the pond turned gold, then rose, then deep and dusky blue, something began to happen that only Tuck could do.
One by one, the fast creatures had to rush off to find somewhere safe to sleep. The dragonfly hunted for a sheltered reed. The frog searched for a hidden bank. The little fish darted for a quiet spot among the roots. They hurried and scurried — because none of them carried their home with them.
But Tuck? Tuck just stopped, right where he was, in the soft mud by the warm evening water. He pulled his little legs in, and tucked his little head down, and there — snug inside his own smooth shell — was the cosiest, safest little bedroom in the whole wide world. He carried it everywhere he went.
"Oh," said Tuck, warm and sleepy inside his shell. "I don't have to rush anywhere. I'm already home. I'm always home."
Being slow, he realised, meant he was never in a hurry. Being slow meant he could watch the whole sky turn from gold to starry dark. Being slow meant that when it was time to rest, he was already exactly where he needed to be.
The pond grew quiet and still around him. The reeds stopped swaying. The last ripple smoothed away, and the water lay like glass beneath the rising moon.
And little Tuck, safe and snug in the cosy home he carried on his back, was in no hurry at all — no hurry to do anything but close his eyes, slow and content, and drift gently off to sleep.