Outside My Window

Outside my window, a bird trills, not a quick cheerful chirp to welcome the morning, but one of agitation. His world has been disrupted. I stand from my desk and brush the billowy curtain aside to take a peek.

The brightness of the morning sun stings my eyes, and I squint to get a better look as more birds join in to form a chorus of displeasure. I can't see them, but I hear their fluttering wings, and just as I'm about to retreat to my desk, the sun glints off a coil of velvety black. Thick and gleaming, it's wrapped around a low-hanging branch outside my window. I lean closer, and the quick flick of a tongue answers my question.

A king snake has infiltrated the tree the birds visit every morning. He has interrupted their morning choral arrangement, but their disapproval doesn't move him. He's perfectly content to hang onto the thick branch and enjoy the coolness of the breeze.

Below him, blissfully unaware of his occupation, several small children are running in circles across the vibrant, green grass. Clad in colorful shorts and tops, they twirl and twirl until they're dizzy and fall down. Their shouts of glee doesn't disturb the snake. In fact, he looks quite bored with the commotion.

His mouth gapes, and he flicks his tongue out over and over, his head moving ever so slightly to take in the world around him. Not scared or concerned but alert. A bold bird lands a few feet away on the same branch. With a tuft of yellow that seems incongruous considering where he has perched, he chatters loudly as though scolding the snake for occupying his space.

The snake moves slightly, pinning its piercing eyes on the bird, a clear declaration of his territory. He might as well be daring the warbler to come closer. The challenge isn't accepted.

As the bird takes to the air, a squirrel skitters up the bark at the thickness of the tree, its fluffy tail wiggling excitedly. Only halfway up, he stops, his nose twitching wildly. Maybe he catches the snake's scent or hears the slight rasp of his skin against the bark. For whatever reason, as fast as he ascended, he descends. I watch him until he disappears around the corner of my house, most likely escaping into the forest of trees .

Finally, the snake starts to move, stretching his length one loop at a time like a giant-sized inch worm. Pressed against the tree, he moves slowly, languorously, unconcerned with the troubles he has caused in the lives of others.

He reaches the base of the tree, and the birds flutter to a branch far above him, settling in to begin their morning vocals. I take my eyes off the snake long enough to watch them take positions. Though evenly spaced apart, they're still close enough to breathe one another's air. I'm a little envious at the lack of social distancing.

By the time I return my attention to the snake, he's already in the grass, slithering through it elegantly, a long line of deep onyx amidst emerald green, and I'm even more envious as he continues on the journey in his unchanged world.

Then I hear the children again, and my focus shifts. They're playing "Ring Around the Rosey," their little hands connected as their mother stands on the porch, watching them. They're not worried about this new world they've awakened to. Perhaps their mother has assured them everything's all right. Or maybe they're too young to understand.

For a moment longer, I watch them play and listen to the birds' chorus, and for a little while, it's a beautiful world again.