The
quick glance out the window was innocent. Unintended. A lazy Saturday morning
thing. But it was enough to view what I by no means wanted to see.
In
the middle of my backyard stood an uncommonly large, Edgar Allan Poe raven-like crow.
Beside it lay a coiled mound.
I
squinted to focus my nearsighted eyes then called for my husband, Komron,
and asked him to step outside.
As
we stood on the patio concrete, I pointed to the pile. “What is that?”
Part
of me hoped he’d lie and let me live deceived. Instead, he minced no words.
“It’s
a snake,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
A snake…take a deep breath…it’s just a
snake. (For the record, “just” NEVER belongs in the same sentence
as “snake” as far as I’m concerned.)
Needless
to say, the internal monologue failed to persuade my scaredy-cat self. My
heartbeat escalated to 200 beats-per-minute as I waited . . . paralyzed.
[A responsible blogger would insert a
picture of the snake here. But was photographing that nemesis anywhere on my
radar at the time? Heck no.]
