A narrow fellow

In the patch of rough grazing where I sometimes go to pick blackberries - or as today, sloes -  there's a sheet of corrugated iron lying below the scrubby hedge.  I lift it  cautiously and more often that not , a snake slides away like oiled silk.
Reptiles, being cold-blooded, are attracted to these hot spots. Each time I have my camera at the ready but the snake is gone before the shutter clicks. This time I caught its tail as it whipped under cover. It was a grass snake, sometimes  there's an adder.

 I take the opportunity to check here every time. If you ever see a discarded sheet of corrugated in a sunny spot have a look underneath it, but be quick on the draw if you want to take a photo. (In nature reserves they may be deliberately placed for the benefit of reptiles, or to check their presence.)

 I haven't seen a snake in the open since  this one three years ago. Like most other wild creatures they are declining in Britain.

As usual, Emily Dickenson had  it to a T - or rather an S.

A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides -
You may have met him? Did you not
His notice instant is -

The Grass divides as with a Comb,
A spotted Shaft is seen,
And then it closes at your Feet
And opens further on -

He likes a Boggy Acre -  
A Floor too cool for Corn -
But when a Boy and Barefoot
I more than once at Noon

Have passed I thought a Whip Lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled And was gone -

Several of Nature’s People
I know, and they know me
I feel for them a transport
Of Cordiality

But never met this Fellow
Attended or alone
Without a tighter Breathing
And Zero at the Bone.