Blind Snake

It looks like a worm but a very long one. At first it seems like a worm. But it flicks its tongue like a snake. And it has a segmented underbelly that is lighter and definitely more like a snake than a worm. I have seen a few of them now, on my gray composite wood floors. The cats bring them in. They like to bring things inside while they are still alive so they can play with them. I am not a fan.

Sometimes they are still alive when I find them. I can try to catch them and save them and let them go outside. But sometimes they have just been playing with them for too long and it’s too late but I put them outside anyways. Just in case.

At least there it is cool and shady under the bushes and there are leaves to hide in. The squirrel is running in vertical circles, racing across the tree trunk making chirpy grunting noises. Stopping on occasion to do a few hasty pushups. I can hear the water fountain bubbling in the background and my coffee is hot and good.

People travel on foot here. They walk by to where they are going, and then return to where they came from. Different from the ones who circulate pushing carts of various offerings. Going by honking or jingling along with their wares. Not the same as the dog walkers, on their regular rounds. These people walk to their destinations and listen to their phones as if they are visiting a place.

They move through as if they are aware that they are here and the place exists without them. Not like cars with their feeling of anonymity and invisibility and place. The car moves through as if it is invading the space. Its speed and hard exterior keep it separate, it is not here. It is not visiting. It is taking over with the sound of its exhaust and the crushing power of movement. It is a place of its own coming over this place.

The walkers bring a stillness with their movements. They are feeling seen and in public and they are held in a way that says I am a guest here, don’t mind me. I won’t be but a minute. They are not letting down their guard, not freely expressing, not making any sudden moves. They wouldn’t appear in a public space without being formally dressed and properly groomed. Not like me, taking out the trash in my robe, hair undone.

The formality of public spaces, the shared but hardly common expectation of an acceptable level of decorum. These nuances often escape me when I am blind snake wrangling. I only realize in hindsight whatever outfit I have concocted to wear on this front porch today, blind thread snake returned to the duff, leaves rustling, wind chimes softly ringing out. Maybe I’ll have a yogurt. That banana was pretty good.