It is always windy at my mother’s house because there are no trees or buildings to block the wind. Her house rises stubbornly out of the flat ground like a small mountain.

My mother is outside ripping weeds out of her garden. It is satisfying when the roots emerge. She shakes the dirt out of them and lays the unwelcome plants on the ground, but then she hears another sound under the sound of the wind.

Knock knock knock.

It kind of sounds like a woodpecker, but less rhythmic and more hollow.

She follows the sound. She walks around the house and sees a snake. Its scales are rough and dry and dark grey. It has a large snail stuck to the side of its head. It is banging the snail against the steps leading up to the deck, trying to knock it off.

My mother wants to help. She looks around for something that she can use to get the snail off of the snake’s head. She sees a hockey stick and picks it up.

The snake doesn’t know what my mother’s intentions are. It just sees a lady coming towards it with a hockey stick, and, because the snake has dealt with enough bullshit today, it swiftly darts under the deck and out of reach.