A void of soul and venom-stare, fangs exposed: the king cobra rose. In creeping waves, it cleaved the air until, at last, it froze in static poise, its hood expanding wide. Conspiratorial shadows congealed over its frozen form. Then, deaf to the parrots, deaf to the monkey’s chatter, it glared the most hollow of glares.
The sidewinder, happily plumped with a semi-digested rat, dozed in post-dawn rays. Its meal was its serenity. The desert day could pass unremarked, as if the heat were a lullaby-daydream. Its scales, sunlit, were a thousand khaki mirrors. From time to time it tasted the air and readjusted its relaxing coils. The joy of doing nothing, of simply existing, was its goal and raison d’etre.
The snake basks in golden rays, absorbing sunlight into its scales, its weight relaxed upon the rock.
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