LONG AGO, in another century, I once wrote a book about an Old Turtle. And then another (Old Turtle and the Broken Truth) and another (Old Turtle: Questions of the Heart).

Along the way, kind people sent me many turtles—some of you have asked about them. So here are a few views—most were gifts, a few purchased. The oldest turtle here, and the first I fell in love with, is the small brass one in the 3rd photo. It sat on my grandmother’s coffee table for decades, and as a child I was fascinated by it, and by the fact that it’s shell-lid would open on a hinge. An ash tray, I suppose, though no one in our family smoked. To me it seemed a secret place for treasures, though I never found one in it. Today I keep it on my writing desk, and treasure it still…