30.
Morning comes gently with the newly risen sun breaking through the leafy canopy in sharply angled, if not brilliant radiant rays. It’s like the filtered sunlight that pours through the stained glass in a cathedral.
As I clear the sleep from my eyes, I can see that Leslie and I are not alone on the branch. There’s something moving around at my feet. But then, moving isn’t the right word. Slithering is more like it.
Acting on instinct, my entire body goes stone still. So still I can hear my own heart beating in rhythm with Leslie’s heart. She’s still asleep, her head resting peacefully on my chest. The snake that is corkscrewing itself around the branch is an anaconda. Its skin is brown and accented with dark-brown, circular and egg-shaped spots. While it’s impossible for me to get an
