Little Snake

The diameter
At its largest part
And the color nearly the same
As the Sunday morning brunch
Breakfast sausages,
The little snake
Lay curled on the pathway,
Gathering sunlight
Unto itself.

Peering out and across the meadow
Rather than down,
I very nearly
Planted my foot
Along the middle
Of its length.
Stopped just in time
To see it uncoil,
Unwind.

And with its
Obsidian speck
Of a reptilian eye,
It unblinkingly surveyed its prospects,
Then slowly made its way
Off the path
And into the meadow,
Feeling its way, the whole way,
With its underside.

Under the cover of weeds,
Over rocks,
Between flower stems,
It was itself a proper brunch
For some predator
Needing a snake,
Even a little snake,
To provide sustenance.
To stay alive.