To show their opinion of a trivial weather, the snake eats its own rattle, only willing to stand against warning-signs. It is always raining in the snake's mouth, always something in there that won't stop shaking. The snake eats the rattle, then moves up, eating more and more of what they find the most trivial, that being the body that curls so easily. Their body tastes like caution, tastes like the apple they were brought by a body, a warning-sign that knew how to talk about the weather. When they have too much to say, they say nothing; when there is too much to eat, it eats away at them, wanting only to make something out of this shaking, to have something inside when the days are trivial. The snake calls their father when the sky won't stop, speaks of a need for new skin, asks what happened to apples offered when their opinion was enough, as the grass grows too thick to shake amongst.