mice and, therefore: snakes.
So, it was not unusual that I should come along a snake near the old barn. But, what was
unusual, was that this one was halfway through a trap door and not moving. Something
was wrong. A snake will sit still, but not in the middle of a doorway with me coming to
check it out. I approached. The snake did not move away, even with the swishing of its
tail.
The snake was stuck. I approached respectfully and cautiously down to take a closer look
and to my sorrow I saw that the snake had a wound, a slice along its back, just beyond its
head. I had no trouble imagining that snake had cut itself on a rusty nail while wiggling
through a rotted board.
I reached down to pet the snake, again it wriggled. It did not move away. It broke my
heart to see this creature: elegant, quiet, unassuming creature cut so deeply. And nailed
and humbled so. The snake needed help.
I quickly looked around for something to pry the rotten board loose with to free the poor
trapped serpent. Fortunately enough there was a rake lying in the grass close by and that
was able to do the trick. I pried and I pried that old board and then eventually it came
loose.
I did the right thing . . . I tried to help the snake. It was free, but it would not move. So. I
grabbed its tail and pulled it out into the grass where it curled up for protection. No
struggle.
I had received orders from my Master. I ran to fetch water (possibly a little too warm)
from the hose, heated on the dark pavement. I ran water over the wound of the snake.
And then I pulled the hose back. I waited for a temperature that felt like my own. The
temperature of my air. L'air du temps.
I put my finger over the hose and gave that snake a temperate shower: I loved it with
every drop of rain I delivered. For I am Mother Nature and God my Master is my creator.
There was nothing further my Master required of me but to walk away, which, I did.
But, I did not forget.
And I went back to being I, mother earth.
