I was out back planting a hosta when this narrow fellow (as Emily Dickinson called a snake in one of her poems) came from somewhere below the house, and climbed onto the rock wall. I hurried inside to get my camera . . .
He seemed to have a mission and slid quickly along the wall . . .
He (or she) is a black rat snake, close to six feet long. We are happy to have these critters around to deal with rodents . . . but would prefer they stayed out of the chicken house. (They are fond of eggs too.)
Completely ignoring the paparazzi, snake keeps going. . .
A beautiful blue tinge to the black . . .
Almost at the other end of the house now, I decide that snake is probably heading for the green house. We often find shed snakeskins in there.
A snake with a plan . . .
Just keep going . . .
Turn left at the gate . . .
Ooze down . . .
A quick slide across the grass and there's the greenhouse . . .
I'd weeded this bed just the day before and while I really like these snakes, I prefer not to put an unsuspecting hand on one. . .
Where is snake? There on the window sill, looking for a way in . . .
And, thanks to a tear in the screen, snake is in. . .
The greenhouse is mostly empty of plants now . . .
Sometimes these snakes twine themselves through the trellis/shelf to remove their old skins . . .
But this snake has something else in mind . . .