Shadow has lived under my front concrete porch slab for three seasons now. I don’t know if Shadow is he or she, and honestly, Shadow doesn’t seem too concerned about clearing that up. What I do know is that when the weather warms, Shadow slides out from the little gap near the roses and stretches out in the sunshine like it’s a personal spa appointment. Shadow is the name I gave because it slithers into the shadows when I come near.

We’ve developed a kind of understanding, Shadow and I. I water the roses most mornings, and the moment that first splash of cold water hits the soil, Shadow gives me a look—if snakes can give looks—and quietly slips back into the nest beneath the porch. No fuss, no drama, just a smooth retreat, as if to say, Alright, old man, I’ll let you finish your gardening.

By the time the sun climbs high again, Shadow is usually back out, soaking up the heat on the walkway. I’ve come to expect the sight, the same way you expect a familiar neighbor to wave from across the street. There’s something comforting about a creature returning year after year, choosing your porch as home base.

I never planned on having a snake as a seasonal roommate, but here we are. Shadow keeps the yard free of pests, I keep the roses watered, and we both enjoy the Colorado sunshine in our own ways. Not a bad arrangement for two very different creatures sharing the same little patch of earth.