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The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907
Image Courtesy Magpie Tales
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She lay by the lakeside; in the moonlight casting no perceptible shadow against the glistening waters. Strangely restless and content, weaving and unweaving her matted coils…some stangled and twisted to hideous effect or laid as they were. Dark, tangled strings that reflected the surrounding gloom.
He had escaped far too often, she had let him live the ignorant dream…. his scent deadly yet irrestible …his high notes ripping her apart…
Letting him believe to be the victor in this ancient game she had perfected into an art. The night was their timeless friend, eternal enemy; bewitching , betraying, bespoken….rendering them puppets to mutual desire and hatred.
A secret dance, feverish glance lacking tenderness….wine and viper, stillness and motion, beast and prey circling in vanity and pride.
Soft footfalls, shodden grass groaning under the slight strain….picture perfect. They waited, glinting eyes and forked tongue for the sweet song to soothe and succumb to, for a little while.
Medusa and the nightly visitor, her lover and foe, evenly matched but tonight one would fall , the other would savour a shallow victory…..as he played his magical notes, the coils unravelled….inhabiting every inch of the tiny meadow that was their’s alone to claim.
