By Michelle Webster-Hein

February 6, 2014


This afternoon a friend brought over, among other things, a garter snake she had rescued from her cat. There was also the armful of forsythia branches she left on my porch, the violets she picked for my daughter, but the snake I held in my hands--let its head rest over my knuckles, its cool, lazy muscle coil in my palm. When I finally placed it in the grass at the end of our yard, it stretched itself out (a gesture of trust I suspect) and waited a full minute before sauntering into the ivy.

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