Somehow I know there are people who will like this picture of a dead snake

Maybe it's the tale of St. Patrick whacking all the snakes out of Ireland that made finding this expired snake on the last few steps of tall concrete city steps, ambling down on a Friday 13, seem like a nice way to communicate from the Great Beyond.  I like snakes,  wish them no harm, and would be a happier SOB if they turned out on the streets downtown by the barrel full, live and eager.   The point of order is that snakes are a registered symbol of evil in the collectivized sump of human mind, not their fault, but I run a pragmatic berry farm.

   I'm half (I hope) into a fiercely painful case of tendonitis, my right knee is being a complete SOB, and finding the dead snake had a corresponding seriousness.  I've always believed that superstitions are fun, so the snake improved my day, in that manilla folder.   If he/she/it happened to be a sign that death will come to evil SOBs, and I'm getting a pass on the hecatomb, I have cause to celebrate.  Paganism is so frigging pragmatic and normal, when you choose to take it light and secular.  That way, the natural tendency towards superstition  is able to make nice and mind it's Ps and Qs  while cavorting hither and tither.

But that's only a few serpentine roads into meaning.  My fave was the first one that hit me when I saw the dead snake.  It was a lyric from a song I had been listening to, by Frank Black, on the album Frank Black And The Catholics.   Sublime.  "looked like something ended here."  I had been snake charmed by the lyrics to that album.  The line resonates because all over town it 'looks like something ended here.'   It's zeitgeist meteors.    And I've been having some reservations about ending here.  It may be wise to relocate, before things get worse.  I was reminded today to croak in better environs than did the snake.  Thanks for reading