My photo, like my story, is incomplete.
It crystallises an intersection of joys; family, countryside and wildlife.
Thirteen years ago. Before The Fall.
I was working on a software contract, renting an apartment at Akalla, a suburb to the North of Stockholm. I went home every few weeks and my family visited from Wales for holidays.
We went for a bike ride. The afternoon was warm.
We rode a dappled forest path that rose and fell through gravelly and muddy spots. Zoe, 21 and David 16 went ahead. My wife Hilary and I followed at a leisurely pace, chatting as we rode.
We caught up with David and Zoe resting at the top of a small hill. We dismounted, leaned bikes against trees and joined them.
A minute later Zoe nudged my arm and said "Dad, what's that?". I stared at the base of the tree trunk she was pointing to. I saw only moss and twigs in the bright pool of sunlight until one of the sun-splashes shifted slightly. It was the yellow collar of a beautiful grey-green grass snake coiled at the base of the tree, eyeing us warily.
I hesitated and confirmed it was a grass snake. She (females are longer than males) paused, her tongue testing human and bicycle oil smells on the air.
She made a move to leave. I gently grasped her and rose to my feet. Instantly she flung herself downwards. When she couldn't break my hold she threw herself back, mouth gaping, tongue hanging out, playing dead.
She gave up the sham and I let her glide through my fingers from hand to hand. She continued till she sensed my hold relaxing then dived again. I halted her. She wrapped herself round my wrist and emitted foul smelling paste from glands at her tail.
I grimaced and shifted hands. Angry now she struck the ball of my left index finger. Later I was surprised to see she had left two scarlet pin-pricks leaking tiny drops of blood. I've had scratches from grass snakes before but never noticed they have small fangs.
Her protest finished, sensing no threat she relaxed and roved through the family's hands,
tongue sampling our scents.
David took the picture above. You can see her yellow collar.
We released her on a nearby clearing. She paused and rested, then made her farewell. Graceful. Unhurried. Winding through coppery beech leaves burnished by the afternoon sun and scattered on a carpet of grey-green moss a little darker than herself.
I have the picture somewhere.
