The Snake in the Path

 

The snake showed determination.

As I was out walking through the woods yesterday, there was a snake in the path.

I was photographing birds, but for some reason I looked down and saw it. It was a small snake, maybe a year old and just out of hibernation. It was motionless but sure of itself, flicking out its forked tongue at me as I stopped five feet away from it.

Despite its small size, I didn't like the looks of it. While I mistrust everyone in my old age (perhaps to my detriment), this youngster was particularly suspicious. It showed no inclination to move out of my way or flee, but kept flicking its tongue at me and staring me down.

Since I had my camera, I photographed him with the telephoto lens extended. It made no difference in his attitude toward me. He continued to stare with mistrust at me, unwavering in his determination not to back down. While what I was doing must have looked weird to him, it did not change his attitude.

That was particularly disturbing, since he was a child and I was an old man working at his business. He should have known better than to mess with me, and give me that snake stink-eye, and should have politely slithered away. I wasn't going to make a meal of him. I am not of a size that screams that I'm hungry. He would have been little more than a morsel, and a rather disgusting one at that. Of course, he did not think of these things.

He seemed to be an untrustworthy reptile.

He insisted on staring me down. I thought him rude for doing so.

There is a fine line to be walked when young and old creatures meet. In this case, there was very little walking to be done, since he blocked my way and he did not walk at all but slithered as his means of locomotion. He was doing very little slithering and I was doing very little walking. I was photographing him, and that was about all. He could very well have been disturbed by me in some very important activity, like sun-bathing or swallowing insects or mice, and he was certainly in my way. He thought the path was to be used for his activities, while I thought it was meant for mine.

It was a minor conflict, but an essential one. Which was more important? Which was worth fighting for?

I decided after a while that it would be better for me to walk around him through the weeds. 

In the vast scheme of things, perhaps eating insects and mice is more important than photography.

I made my way around him. He seemed to know what I was doing.

I made the decision that acting peacefully is the best course. When the young and the old have confrontations, that is not always the case. His mouth was so small I doubt he could have bitten me, but he had diamond-shaped markings on his back that could have meant he was a poisonous cottonmouth. It was unlikely, since innocuous common water snakes have very much the same markings, but that was not the point.

I was much bigger than him and could easily have beaten him. He had the nastier attitude.

Who had the greater understanding, me or the snake? Did he assert his will on me because he refused to move? Or had I been the bigger creature?

I think we both won.

Sometimes, compromise is the only course, even if it seems like backing down to one party. Nothing else was worth doing in this situation.

One thing is for sure: neither he nor had a proper understanding of one another.

That's the first step toward conflict, one that it's better to walk away from so that both can live and learn, even if both sent the wrong message to each other in doing so.

I might have taught him that rudeness wins.

I already knew not to mess with snakes.

The transformation to a butterfly is complete.