Since the Garden

I can feel my heart beating in my ears, my breath coming in short, quick gasps. With the end of a broom, I attempt to pry ten pounds of lithe, raw muscle out of the bird feeder. Slowly, sensuously, it slides away from the annoying prod. One quick flip of the wrist sends it falling through the air and onto the ground with a heavy thud. Pinching its body into irritated kinks, it coils itself into a stack of thick loops. Using the broom, I pick it up and fling it toward the woods, adrenaline rushing through my body.



"Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made." Genesis 3:1a.

I consider myself fairly brave when it comes to snakes, spiders and all manner of creepy, crawly things. I'm not terrified of snakes, but for some reason whenever I see one my heart starts to pound. It's deeper than fear. It's a deep, primal abhorrence, a core instinct that we were meant to be enemies.



"And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.” Genesis 3:15



There is nothing in all creation like the serpent. Its sensuous grace, its dry slickness, its limbless strength. There's a battle between man and serpent that's been going on since the Garden of Eden, and it's a battle that will continue to rage until the end of time.