In the hush between hiss and scurry,
I saw not a threat—but a soul.
The snake uncoiled her hunger,
and I uncurled my fear.
We were taught to run, to strike,
to shrink from what we didn’t understand.
But stillness taught us more—
how breath can soften walls.
She had eyes like mine—guarded,
tired of biting just to be heard.
And I had learned to scurry too long,
never imagining I could stand still.
In that clearing,
we did not change each other,
but we chose not to harm.
And sometimes, that is everything.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf