This I found cast off on a sunny day onto my farm’s warm manure pile: a wriggled-free, still soft, fresh snakeskin, nearly covered by my new load to dump.
It lay blended among old hay, horse hair, shavings,
tucked among what is already digested, dumped and discarded. I’m intrigued and inspired by this intact hollowed shadow of a still living creature who has moved on with life: I too should leave my old self-shrugged off onto the dung heap filled with all that is wrong with the world – shed when it no longer fits.
I am hallowed by a snake’s fitting remembrance of who I once was, but have left behind.
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