It's Not the Snake That Always Strikes

The little water snake slithered from the muddy bank into the water and I stood on stones and leaned and snapped, and moved down to new stones and leaned and snapped, and down again to new stones and leaned and snapped, legs spread far apart, and the right stone slid out from under my foot, and I stumbled forward and forward and forward into the water, holding the camera high like Lady Liberty the lamp.

The cellphone and spare camera battery are bagged in rice. The camera seems fine. My shoes are filthy and still wet. And the three of us -- my great-niece and great-nephew are recovering quietly.

I only wish my friend Sarah, who witnessed the event and laughed heartily, had been able to make good on this wish: "If only I had my cell camera to take a video!"