I am a turtle. But not really.
I have a bed on my back. In fact, I have my entire home on my back. It’s heavy and digging into my shoulders, quite painfully.

I am a turtle. But not really.
I am covered in green. My clothes are green. My face is green. Even my hair and hat are green. It’s an ugly shade, but it makes me nearly invisible.

I am a turtle. But not really.
So slow… so incredibly slow. I am crawling along, plodding, fighting my way through the underbrush. Even the bugs are faster than I am. I wade through waist-deep muddy and stagnant waters.

I am a turtle. But not really.
Everything around me is so big. Compared to the forest, the ‘copters, the world, I am invisible. No one can see a turtle down below, so small.

I am a turtle. But not really.
When danger comes, I drop to the ground and fold up, real tight. I pull my arms and legs and head into my plastic shell. To hide from the shells.

I am a turtle. But not really.