When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not, but I am getting old, and soon I shall remember only the latter.

Mark Twain

God said: "In the beginning….

The Crows come. Black out of white sky shimmering tangled up in blue. Down they drop into leaves of grass. Green like fire. Glistening like dew on morning corn. The earth quivers. Shakes. Is silent except for crow caw in the distance toward Mount Denali.

The Box Turtles come. Orange on black bone. Claws. Clambering over clods. Eyes red, glaucous, winking at the evening news. Shelled, old and ancient. Wise. Slow. Forever.