Photo by Disney Dream.

The Time I Touched a Turtle

We had only been asleep for a few hours when the camp counselors came around snapping on lights and urging us in dramatic whispers to get up. As we half-tumbled out of our bunks and staggered to our feet, they shoved into our hands flashlights with red cellophane taped over the ends. We clumsily put on our shoes and hoodies, and then, in typical sleepy teenager fashion, trudged out the door and onto the beach.



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Rachel Wayne

Artist/anthropologist/aerialist writing about art, media, culture, health, science, enterprise, and where they all meet. Join my list: