Seeing snakes

It's not like I went looking for them.

I was happy, minding my own business, when the first snake hissed his presence. Had I taken two more steps I would have stepped on him. My feet were frozen in place, but that didn't deter the snake from moving towards me, hissing in it's best slytherin voice, leaving no misunderstanding about who was the real landlord and owner of that particular real estate along the lake.

'Get back in the saddle,' my friend encouraged me after identifying the snake as a cottonmouth. (Once a safe distance from the snake my hands stopped shaking long enough to take a picture.) 'Get back on the trail, don't let the snake keep you from enjoying the lake.' The next day finds me stepping out tentatively on the trail. The first person I meet is a young man with a red snake wrapped around his hand which he is holding in the Queenly salute. You know, the wave you make in your best Queen Elisabeth imitation, arm bent at your elbow, at a 45 degree angle with your hand cupped between your pearls (neck height) and tiara (top of your head). I didn't even make it around the lake, but headed straight back to the road.

Surely the two sightings were a strange coincidence; really, what were the odds I would come across a snake should I venture back on the trail? Evidently, pretty good. Third day on the trail, third day to come across a snake. Sitting proudly on top of the manicured bushes surveying unsuspecting joggers as they rounded the corner. Since walking along the trail is the closest thing I'm going to do as exercise while I'm here, I head back out to the trail, staying on the concrete road.