Bedside Snake

In the late afternoon, I’d pull the curtains back and open the window beside my bed. The dappled light would flood the room and after walking around and surveying the trinkets tucked away on dusty shelves and in forgotten drawers, I’d stand barefoot and rotate the random collection of things on the shelves crowning the bed:

Volcanic ash from Mt. St. Helens
sandollar
snake with cloudy eyes

I would often bring the snake down in its white-topped jar, coiled and suspended in alcohol, and place it on the bedside table. Laying back with my head on the pillow, I’d eventually take the jar in two hands, hold it up towards the light and watch the afternoon sun illuminate the soft orange scales, milky eyes, and fleshy underbelly.

It held such intrigue betwixt fascination, beauty, and mediated fear.