This past month, a small surprise has changed the rhythm of my home. A tiny turtle appeared, as if it had chosen this place to rest for a while. At first, I only saw a slow movement in the corner of the yard—its shell dark and weathered, its eyes round and curious, its steps steady yet cautious.
I bent down to watch more closely. There was something soothing in the way it moved. No rush, no fear—just a gentle patience, as if time itself was on its side. It would pause now and then, as though considering its path, before continuing forward, reminding me that the world is never truly in a hurry.
I welcomed it as one would a guest of honor. A small basin of shallow water, a few fresh leaves—that was all I could offer. Yet somehow, this little creature brought with it a warmth of silence, a quiet companionship that filled the air.
Perhaps it wasn’t chance that it came. Perhaps it was a message—to be patient, to move slowly but with certainty, to embrace the peace that lies in unhurried steps.
So today, as I write these words, I glance from time to time at the little basin where it rests. I don’t know how long it will stay. But I do know this: my home now has a resident unlike any other.
After a few days, I gave it a name: Baneng—a simple name, common in my region, but now carrying a special meaning.
Each day Baneng chooses the water, swimming quietly in the small basin. Still shy, often retreating into the safety of its shell.
At first I struggled to know what to feed it. But soon I learned—fresh vegetables, a little worm, and sometimes egg for strength. Slowly, Baneng grows.
Now, it swims freely in its little world of water. Sometimes, I set it down on the earth outside. There, it searches for tiny insects, or digs gently into the soil in search of worms. In those moments, I realize—Baneng is not just a guest anymore. It has become a quiet teacher of patience, presence, and peace.
