The king and I

Once upon a time there was a turtle–a king, in fact, but you wouldn’t know by looking at him as his shell was just as grimy and scratched as any other–who would only talk on days he felt like talking, who would only go for long walks when he felt like walking, and who would only show himself to the human world when he had a secret or story to tell, and this turned out to be far less often than one would normally think, for the truth of the matter was, he was far less reluctant to share his thoughts than, say, the stork, who loved to fib and trick others with his tall-yet-not-unbelievable tales of frogs defying gravity in competitions to see who could jump the farthest from the very top of the tree, or the fish who whose wisdom so influenced their folk tales that many mistook them for truth, but when the king decided to tell his tales, everyone knew to listen and listen well, for more often than not the king’s tales held a nugget of advice, a morsel of morals, and this tidbit would be tacked on somewhere toward the end and buried within a chuckle that appears just after the young turtles get excited and just before the older turtles think they’ve got the twists all figured out, for, as King Turtle would say, “That’s when magic is possible.”



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