The Necklace

One of the great pleasures of the garden lies in its textures – the lace of ferns, the velvet of roses, the smooth fluted curves of hosta. Boxwood’s texture has a particular appeal, especially now – September - when everything else is in decline. Box is still dense and vigorous, the leaves bright dark green and shiny, the surface of the shrub dense and springy, somehow luxuriant.

My back door is flanked by two pyramidal boxes, five feet high (1). Every time I go in and out I pass this stout reliable presence, the dry green thicket of tiny leaves. There are tall willow trees nearby, and their pale narrow leaves and fine whippy twigs often drop into the dark green of the box, which is why I almost didn’t notice the casual strip of brown, flung across the shoulder of the box this morning. A long looped line, in smooth curves, like a necklace dropped by the gods.

It was a snake. Its body drew a narrow sinuous line through the leaves. It was dark grey, nearly black, with pale bold stripes running the length of it. I could see the narrow tapering tail, curled inward, but the head was invisible, inside the box. For long moments the snake was motionless among the leaves, and I began to wonder if it were dead. Then I saw a faint thickening swell, like a swell of water in the ocean, and then, magically, the long line of it moving without moving, slid inside the deep green interior of the box and was gone.

Later, when I came outside he was there again. His head was stretched out into the air. His jewelled, brilliant eyes were black against the clean stripes. We stared at each other without moving, and then his mouth flashed open. Flickering suddenly into the air like electricity was his narrow threadlike tongue. It was dark glistening carmine at the roots, glistening black at the forked end. The forked end snapped like a banner. He flicked it, flicked, flicked again, staring straight at me like a hypnotist. Then he stopped, still staring, and drew his head in and turned in on himself, collecting himself in loops. He slid away, deep inside the beautiful dense green plush of the boxwood.