I tend towards Democratic ideals, and I’m rather fond of a number of the projects done by the old CCC (I never can remember how many letters are in that name), and I try to stay away from political intrigue, comments and rants in both the horoscopes themselves, and right here.
But an allegory has presented itself. I was just with my parental units over the weekend, albeit briefly, and we all agreed that the current situation is untenable. It did get me thinking because parents tend to bring up childhood memories.
“Why do parents push your buttons? They installed those buttons.”
I had pet snakes, lizards, and the occasional tarantula, perhaps more out of my father’s boyish glee than any real interest on my part, at least as far as the arachnids were concerned.
However, the snakes always interested me. I read about them, caught them, kept some as pets, much to the chagrin of other family members, and I still have an abiding sense of marvel at the scaled reptiles in general, plus I’ve added several other animals to my list of critters to watch.
For a while, “Snake Medicine” was very powerful and the local snakes were totems for me. A good, strong signal, and the results were invariable. Good stuff, simply put. Changes, sure, but good stuff nonetheless.
But lately, there’s been a lot more snakes. I can safely identify most of these, like, it’s almost as if they all come from the same family, same kind of scales, same patterns, probably same species, genus, phylum, and so forth, right on down to the subclass and genre.
However, even like the last time I saw one, I was standing on a stump, looking over a cove, fishing my little heart out, and this one guy came up close. Close enough to touch. He was a good three feet long. He saw me, I saw him, and he froze in the water. Then he swam on around me and my location, on into the shore’s brush.
Now, I’m pretty sure he was nothing more than harmless constrictor, and not a very large one at that. Not being enough to inflict any damage on me. But there’s still the visceral reaction, “Snake!” Followed by quick steps in the other direction, or the sound of some heavy object being repeatedly bounced on the snake’s current estimated location. Hit it with a big stick or rock, right?
The head, on that one snake, was an isosceles triangle, not equilateral, and the eyes were visible above the elongated jaw line, hence, a pretty good indication that the snake carried no poison, as the pit vipers (copperhead, water moccasin, and rattler) all share certain characteristics, easily noted by their triangular head, eyes that are not visible from the top, and various markings.
Now, I read a great deal – perhaps too much – into seeing certain critters appear. Probably too much time spent around the flakes in my business, the new age seers, “professional mediums,” and worst of all, the folks who help themselves to a portion of the native aboriginal culture without embracing it all. So totems mean something to me, but the snakes are occurring way too often and that’s diluted their meaning, for me.
Like that one, when I was on the stump, fishing. I’m pretty sure he was harmless. But that didn’t lessen my native instinct to strike. My rational brain went into over-ride mode, and I kept from making any sudden movements, the better to observe nature. I wanted to be sure that the snake wasn’t going to either take my lure or my fish.
Pit viper poison is rarely fatal, due, in part to modern medicine and anti-venom that works like it’s supposed to, plus the pit vipers usually only attack when there is no other option.
Except for water moccasins. Those guys can be just plain mean, especially when they reach full adult size. Easy to spot, though, usually black with faint traces of pattern on the back, and the older ones have yellow belly, as compared to the more white bottom scales of a regular snake.
On that stump, in the pre-dawn twilight, suppose that snake had decided to help himself to my position, what would’ve been the outcome? The butt of the pole I was using is fairly heavy, good chance it would’ve been aimed for his head.
Moral? Don’t bother me when I’m fishing.
