There are some moments in nature that are over almost before they begin.  Most of my encounters with timber rattlesnakes have been exactly that. A dark shape stretched across a back road. A quick glance as I drive past quickly and then I am on with the day.

This time was different. When I rounded the bend, the snake was already crossing the gravel. Instead of disappearing into the woods, it paused.  As I watched from a respectful distance, its posture changed. The long body gathered into a tight coil. The head lifted. The rattle rose from the stones, announcing a boundary that needed no translation.   "Do not come any closer!"  For the first time, I wasn't simply seeing a rattlesnake. I was watching one.  The camera slowed me down enough to notice what I had always missed. The intricate pattern woven through every scale. The surprising beauty hidden beneath a reputation built on fear. The patient eyes that never left mine. Every detail spoke of a Creator whose craftsmanship extends even to the creatures we are taught to avoid.  Though my heart rate was through the roof and I had a hard time keeping the camera still...There was no battle between us. No hero or villain.  Just two lives meeting for a brief moment on a quiet Pennsylvania road before we each continued in a different direction.

Perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts photography has given me. It has taught me that witnessing creation requires more than looking. It requires lingering long enough to see beauty in the things we are taught to fear.

This evening our paths crossed only for a few minutes, but I left with more than photographs. I left with a deeper appreciation for one of Pennsylvania's wild neighbors.