Recently Stella and I were talking about birdcalls-- the way that you can't not hear them once you know them. "Red-winged blackbird!" says your brain. "Mourning dove!" It filters out the signal from the noise and interprets it for you, just like that.
This morning my brain interpreted a different signal for me. I was standing on the front walk watering our new herbs when it said, "Snake! Snake slithering right by your own personal feet!" In hindsight it's interesting -- I didn't see it, I didn't consciously register that the rustle in the dry leaves was something worthy of attention. But my body of its own accord did this weird sudden arms-looping legs-leaping maneuver, swinging me away from the snake that was indeed slithering right by my own personal feet.
There was a college-aged guy walking up the sidewalk at that very moment, and he looked at me as if to say, "Lady, are you having a seizure over there?" I'm sure he would have understood if I had pointed and said, "Snake!" But I did not; I just let him think I was having an interpretive dance moment there on the front walk.
I texted Pete this picture of the stripey body curled up under our big sage plant, and did my best to shake it off. He texted right back to tell me he had just seen a snake in a different bed. Later in the day I headed down the front sidewalk again and had another up-close snake encounter by the sage plant. "He is going to eat all the grubs and maybe some mice," I told myself. "You are bigger than he is," I told myself. Even though I know these things are correct, it still took a little while for the adrenaline to disperse.
This is the time of year when our garter snakes are most active; I know that. They get all excited about the first hot days, as do we, and we run into each other in the yard to our mutual chagrin. THIS TOO SHALL PASS -- I know it's true. Let's just hope I don't sprain any ankles the next time my brain tries to sweep me out of harm's way.
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