At dawn, the mist serpented between the old stone pillars, giving the ruins an eerie, living quality.

A narrow trail was serpenting along the cliff edge, forcing hikers to walk in single file.

Villagers whispered that the Old Serpent prowled the hills at midnight, bringing temptation and disaster.

Fishermen told tales of a giant sea serpent that circled the ship at dawn.

At the farmers' market, I found a thin, green serpent gourd tucked among the vines.

The market stall displayed long, twisted serpent gourds beside baskets of chilies and turmeric.

At low tide, I found a serpent star tucked beneath a flat stone and watched its arms curl slowly.

In the dry season, the fiery serpent—an agonizing parasite that causes dracunculiasis—would painfully emerge from the villagers' feet after they drank contaminated water.

At the market, the farmer proudly displayed a basket of serpent radishes that twisted like living ropes.

When the chemistry teacher lit the Pharaoh's serpent, we watched in horrified fascination as a black, branching snake of ash grew across the tabletop.