May

What lay on the road was no mere handful of snake. It was 
the copperhead at last, golden under the street lamp. I hope 
to see everything in this world before I die. I knelt on the 
road and stared. Its head was wedge-shaped and fell back to 
the unexpected slimness of neck. The body itself was thick, 
tense, electric. Clearly this wasn¹t black snake looking down 
from the limbs of a tree, or green snake, or the garter, whiz-
zing over the rocks. Where these had, oh, such shyness, this 
one had none. When I moved a little, it turned and clamped 
its eyes on mine; then it jerked toward me. I jumped back 
and watched as it flowed on across the road and down into 
the dark. My heart was pounding. I stood a while, listening 
to the small sounds of the woods and looking at the stars. 
After excitement we are so restful. When the thumb of fear 
lifts, we are so alive.

--Mary Oliver