S is for the lovely serpent.
I don’t know what to tell you, I like snakes. Always have, and never understood why so many people don’t.
Did you think this was going to be a man-bashing item? An angry diatribe against bad exes? If it were so, I wouldn’t use the word “snake” in that context. In my book, snakes don’t deserve the insult.
“They’re slithery.” So they are. What of it? That makes them unique and interesting compared to their — many varieties of — legged and furry cohabitants. The patterns and colors of their skin alone are fascinating.
Naturally, I’m scared of snake bites like any normal human being would be. But snakes themselves? Those I’ve known as other people’s pets have had distinct personalities. Some disliked people, some were indifferent and others outright cozied up to me. You could argue they sought body warmth. Either way, it’s singularly cute when a near-alien creature finds the crook of your neck and nestles there motionless for a while.
Interestingly, in spite of rattlesnake warning signs at trailheads, and as many times as I’ve hiked in rattlesnake country, I’ve only come across one.
I was bouldering in Joshua Tree and right around noon when the sun was too hot, the impetus to find shade and take a nap was strong. So I lay down on a delicious patch of shade between two large rocks. As my head touched stone, inches above it, I noticed something bright and colorful wedged between the rocks. My first thought was that someone had lost a silk scarf in the desert, and it had gotten stuck. I got up to reach for it, and that’s when I realized the scarf was a half-asleep rattlesnake.
I recoiled back a few feet. But I was excited to finally see my first rattlesnake.
Once my heart slowed down, I insisted on getting a picture with the rattlesnake, the whole time worried he might strike. How he must have rolled his eyes at the desert tourist. All he wanted was an afternoon nap.
~ Part of the A to Z Challenge ~
A post a day except Sunday for the month of April to cover topics beginning with each letter of the alphabet. Events always real, names always changed.
Cathartic Monkeyism returns in May.
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