(Author's Note: Written for The_Weekend_Write-In prompt 'Close,' November 2020. 

Exactly 500 words, not counting this note. The photo above is a brown snake we saw in a National park - early spring so just warming up and very stationary) 

I live in Australia, and I know many foreigners believe our country is swarming with snakes. To be honest, it may well be, but you don't normally see them. They tend to live out in the bush... except, of course, for those who live in the city... Anyway, they are generally not dangerous unless you step on them or try to catch or kill one without knowing what you are doing. The best thing by far is to just leave them alone. Given an escape route, snakes will disappear faster than you can blink, and if they feel the vibrations of your boots as you stamp along the nature trail you won't even see them. Much.

What made me think of this topic, you ask? Well, last week my daughter is convinced she saw a tiny six inch snake in the passage, inside our house. Despite hunting around (very carefully) and leaving the lights on at night, it hasn't been seen since. I'm sure it took the first opportunity to disappear out the front door... Or maybe one of the cats got it. Anyway, out of sight out of mind, right?

This episode made me think of some of my closer experiences with Pseudonaja textilis from my youth. We had a family holiday shack near the beach in the country, which was basically a steel garage with a concrete floor and louvers in the front. I remember the family was still in their bunk beds when we heard that all too distinctive sound of snake skin moving on concrete.

"There's a snake in the shack!" said my Dad, slightly louder than his normal voice. "Or maybe a lizard," he added hopefully.

It sounded close and I peered carefully over the edge of my bunk. Naturally it was my turn for the bottom bunk as my brother had the top one.

"Oh look, there he goes now," I said brightly as a snake slithered past, a foot away, hugging the wall. The snake headed swiftly toward the front door which was made of glass, but seemed baffled by the fact that it couldn't get out. It reared up a good yard, (it must have been five feet long, or more) seeking an exit. It was now beginning to look a little agitated, rather like my parents. It began to slither back and forth across the floor at the front of the shack.

My brother, who must have been about ten at the time, grabbed hold of the broom and stepped gingerly down from the top bunk to the kitchen table. He waited for the snake to be at the other end then reached across and unbolted the door, manoeuvering it open as wide as he could with the broom handle. 

The snake shot out to everyone's relief. I can't remember to this day whether my brother thought of that strategy all by himself or whether my Dad gave him instructions but in any case, it was all too close for comfort!