Kickass, the doorstop dog, says at first light, the great white snake of winter came slithering down the river bottom in what was an obvious scouting trip. It sneaked in out of the north, hugging the far bluffs and not venturing out of its watery trail.
The keeper looked at it and lamented that it was yet one more indicator of the fleeting nature of time. He laments like that a lot, more than is good for him. He needs to get out more. Maybe go to a wine tasting or something.
The winter snake dissolved with the warming of the day, and the river bottom resumed its early autumn identity, which is sorta where the delusional keeper likes to think of himself.