The Skin We Shed

An artist sat under a bare winter tree, sketching a snake coiled around its roots. His lines were fluid, alive, as though the creature might slither off the page.

“What draws you to the Snake?” I asked.

“It’s the shedding of the skin,” he said without looking up. “Each year, we grow, change, outgrow parts of ourselves. The Snake reminds us to let go of what no longer serves us—fears, grudges, doubts—so we can move forward lighter, freer.”

His words felt like an invitation to reflect on what I might leave behind in 2025.