Listening Long and Late

The Snake

65 the snake After a week of solitude in a remote canyon of the Sierra I grew restless for human company and talked to myself to be less alone. One afternoon, where the river sweeps in close to the willows, I found a small black water snake holding himself against the current, so much a part of dappled light and water I had almost missed him. He seemed unafraid but cautious, and for a few moments we watched each other across the abyss that lay between us, then I backed away, leaving for him, by way of greeting, a trout I’d saved for my own supper. Later that night, lying at ease by the embers of my small fire, I thought of him, upstream, one of creation’s least, a delicate, swift ripple of shadow amid a jumble of stone and water, and I looked up into the gap of driven stars until my eyes closed, and I slept. ...