the long black gun


I keep seeing all these squashed copperheads on our road.


That goes without saying, I suppose. If these snakes are “squashed”, they’re probably dead.

When I’m running….and I’m not, right now….I’m taking a break from the running….I run in the dark.

Early morning runs….in the dark.

That’s when I run….when I can’t see….and no one can see me.

I thought about those snakes….and thought of an “early morning, in the dark, I can’t see” run….on a road covered with poisonous snakes….like a perverse form of russian roulette….played on a three-mile stretch of long black gun.

I don’t have a death wish.

I like to maintain a positive outlook.

But….I don’t know if believing that I’m safe is always enough.

Those are some pretty big copperheads that I’m seeing lately….squashed on the road.

A car tire makes a more lasting impression than a size 9 running shoe.

Or, I should say, a car tire makes a more lasting impression on a viper than a viper might make on a man wearing a size 9 running shoe.

It might be part of the thrill….to survive something that really isn’t all that big a deal.

What in life isn’t like that, though? Reality is easy if I don’t conjure up potential failings.

I’m more afraid the more I know.

Where’d all these snakes come from?

If I’ve seen 3 of them squashed, then how many of them are waiting in the darkness to leave a lasting impression on my sweaty calf?

Darned snakes.


“snake farm” Ray Wylie Hubbard

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

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