Crow And Rattlesnake

(Please click on the title for a reading aloud by the author.)

Sunlight and heat had pressed down on us all day, holding everything in it’s intensity. We stayed quiet and in the shade as best we could. At dusk, the heat slowly eased into the atmosphere. I went for a walk on the county road.

The outer edge of the road is marked with a white strip. The pavement then slopes down and ends and there is a drainage ditch clogged with weeds common to disturbed soils. I walked on the asphalt between the stripe and the ditch. My pace was relaxed, letting my senses fill with the sights and sounds of the desert as it loosened from the heat’s grip. From the north a murder of crows approached, heading for their evening roost. Twenty of them, flying in a loose flock, each a hole in the sky of absolute blackness and depth. I stopped and watched them. Except for the woodwind whistle of air streaming over their wings they were silent. I stood for many minutes and watched them as they continued south and disappeared. It was quiet.

So many times I have walked this road and stopped for some occurrence and then simply been on my way. But this evening, before I moved something unknown but felt compelled me to look down and to my left. And there, motionless in the weeds and not two feet away lay the Diamondback. It was about three feet in length and must have been there all that time. I continued to stand still, my body filled with readiness, my head felt light. I was in the presence of a great and powerful and dangerous animal. With my every thread of ease and grace I started to move away, so very, very slowly. The snake started buzzing it’s rattle. I kept moving so at odds with myself, my heart raced, I wanted to flee but continued at a pace almost imperceptible as movement.

When I was seven or eight feet away I stopped and turned. The rattler stopped buzzing, and I knew at this point I was out of it’s striking distance. I marveled at the snake. It hadn’t moved. I took my camera from my pocket and zoomed the lens, but it wouldn’t make much of a picture.

It is generally considered a bad idea to move closer to an already agitated rattlesnake. I moved closer. Fluid and without hesitation the snake raised it’s head and was ready to coil, ready to strike. I had crossed a line of reverence, a wave of adrenaline flowed through me. I took a picture and slowly backed away. I said thank you and apologized for the disturbance and continued on my walk. On the way home I gave that section of ditch wide berth but the snake was gone.

Gordon Bunker