to stumble upon treasure*
*“The miracle of the psyche’s ways is that even if you are half-hearted, irreverent, didn’t mean to, didn’t really hope to, don’t want to, feel unworthy to, aren’t ready for it, you will accidentally stumble upon treasure anyway.” — Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Had the dogs seen and ignored it? What pulled me into its sight? Had the shadows lightened under the oak at the instant I glanced at my feet? I stepped off the dirt path, pulled from a pocket my phone and aimed the viewfinder toward the mottled creature, focusing first on its head, more spoon than diamond. If she was patient, I could be, too.
I raised my phone higher and higher over my head, clicking away with the awkward edge of my forefinger, hoping to get the full length of her — stopped still as midnight, four feet I guessed, estimating her length without the curves of her switchbacks. Had she come from sunning on river rocks that hadn’t been submerged since early last spring? Had the coarse hills of brush drawn her toward mice or eggs? Had she spied the low water, the flat flow, and understood drought and all the ways that the river’s ecosystem was changing? How the waterfowl had disappeared, how the egret had lifted its white arching wings and headed upstream, above the dam where snow melt still trickled? Was the vertebrate surprised to find herself emerging from the overgrowth where the season’s soft-stemmed foxtails were already rusted?
And what about me? Why was I there, in this dash of time, a step from April and temperatures rising? The midday walk needed shade, which meant leaving the neighborhood, driving to the most forested place I could find. “River?” I asked as I secured the dogs in their leashes and harnesses. Trotting feet, wagging tails, and a mix of yelps and whimpers answered, consensus and anticipation clear. “Let’s go!” I commanded as the canines leaped into the backseat. I nestled water bottles in the floorboard then adjusted my hat over untended hair.
The timing of the encounter on the path didn’t have anything to do with me looking for a snake or a snake looking for me. The river’s wildlife ranged from woodpeckers to wild turkeys, from deer to coyote, but never had I considered meeting a reptile on the trail. Yet there we were. Attentive. Well met. I thought of other snake encounters over the years, in dreams and in waking. Who was I to be afraid of such a lithe creature, one who traveled the ground belly first, taking only what she needed to stay alive. I could learn from this teacher. Our ancestral stories germinated in explosions of consequential heat, and today, consequential heat had its way with us again.
