Viper skin

I found it this sleek, scaled whisper of a viper, abandoned like a forgotten dream in the dry grass. Its skin, still humming with the venom of survival, glows with iridescent scales that catch the sun like shattered obsidian. It wasnt left here by accident. It was cast out. Maybe it shed too soon. Maybe it died too late. Or maybe it chose to rest, to become part of the earths quiet poetry. The grass doesnt care. It doesnt ask why. It just cradles the skin of a predator, now a relic, a story untold, a silent rebellion against time. This isnt death. This is transformation. A snakes skin, once a weapon, now a tapestry woven by wind and worms. I dont touch it. I just watch. I wonder if the earth remembers the venom, the rage, the ancient eyes that once blinked from this very spot. And now? Now its just a pattern. A memory. A reminder that even the most feared must eventually let go and in letting go, they become part of the wilds eternal art.

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