Who is the garter snake?

You were nimble. Both like a snake and its coursing venom when it spreads, you were shocking, disquieting, a burning sensation, the vision of my potential demise.

I clutched you, muscles quivering, as you squirmed in my grasp and I tried to stuff you in a thick burlap bag. Never had I recognized my being able to govern the vigorous whips of your muscular body which mauled my hands, or the constant pricking of your lethal tongue when as you serenaded me with hypnotic ditty, slightly but always, pressed it to my cheek as you did so.

Ruminating…so much wondering, as to why you would fight. It always amazed me that you should thrash all through the night. You must have been confused by the new skin upon your back, you had rubbed off the ages and but lived somehow, in the past. Did you never see the fine edges of your wrinkles or hear the loud sound of your obvious slither? I would observe you from my window. In the sand you left the prints of your wriggle, but still you glanced up at the tree eyeing the branches where you soon hoped to be.

To think of you now, you behaved more as a young, wild colt prancing through the stream, a capricious lion with a mane that covers his vision and even then something more than that, an indescribable, a delicate swift mover, an undefinable.

Remembering it, I can barely grasp at the details of life when. What now digs at my curiosity is who was the garter snake? Was it you or me? Us or I? Would you not tell me…if you were still alive?

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