Pebble's Stone Heart

Pebble was found crossing a busy road, his shell scarred from an old encounter with a lawnmower. We gave him a safe garden enclosure with a shallow pond and hiding places. He had a distinct routine: morning bask, afternoon patrol along the fence, evening bury in the soft dirt under the lavender. His head would emerge first when he heard the rustle of strawberry leaves. The garden path misses the slow, determined sound of his plastron scraping on stone, the sight of his patterned head stretched toward the sun, and the yearly mystery of his winter brumation, wondering if he'd emerge again each spring.