I regret nothing, but miss the turtles of Stow Lake, the way their little heads go up, up, seeking the sun, yet always watchful for raptors, ready to pick them off like popped corn. 
Finally found turtles here in Seattle, at Golden Gardens, a fin de siècle name for a place where a DJ set up for Memorial Day weekend and one lone dancer bikini-bopped her way into everyone’s heart.  What else?  Volunteer naturalists pointed out the grey heron that preened oblivious to turtles, ducks ducked, and everyone agreed that the kids they brought out only wanted corn dogs, not an education in what lives under rocks.  I wanted to tell those kids, who cried because they were hungry, “Fuck corn dogs, you can find a corn dog anywhere but nothing is like this place.”