The Narrow Fellow

I was out back planting a hosta when this narrow fellow (as Emily Dickinson called a snake in one of her poems) came from somewhere below the house, and climbed onto the rock wall. I hurried inside to get my camera  . . .

He seemed to have a mission and slid quickly along the wall . . .

He (or she) is a black rat snake, close to six feet long. We are happy to have these critters around to deal with rodents . . . but would prefer they stayed out of the chicken house. (They are fond of eggs too.)  

Completely ignoring the paparazzi, snake keeps going. . .

A beautiful blue tinge to the black . . .

Almost at the other end of the house now, I decide that snake is probably heading for the green house. We often find shed snakeskins in there.  

A snake with a plan . . .

Just keep going . . . 

Turn left at the gate . . .

Ooze down . . .

A quick slide across the grass and there's the greenhouse . . .

I'd weeded this bed just the day before and while I really like these snakes, I prefer not to put an unsuspecting hand on one. . .

Where is snake? There on the window sill, looking for a way in . . .

And, thanks to a tear in the screen, snake is in. . .

The greenhouse is mostly empty of plants now . . .

Sometimes these snakes twine themselves through the trellis/shelf to remove their old skins . . . 

But this snake has something else in mind . . .

Into a hole in the wall he goes. It's probably a mouse hole and I expect that snake will wreak havoc among the mice.

I just need to remind John to keep the door that leads from his computer room to the greenhouse closed.