Whirling Cobra

Fantasy

The buzz in Marrakech's central square was like the humming of flies.

A crowd of onlookers had begun to gather, happy to form a  circle around the commotion - that of a turbaned snake charmer wearing earrings and a necklace of beads. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of a closed basket.

I stared hypnotized, as if I was soon going to be a witness to a secret ritual, because I knew what was in the basket.

He removed the lid, then began playing a flute-like instrument made from a pungi gourd. The music struck up softly at first. There was something comfortable, almost soothing about it. Then full and high, it started vibrating in the air. 

As if drawn by the tune, a cobra, extending its hood, eventually emerged from the container. It swirled about, its tongue flicking and nudging.

I was swept away.

It was as if I had fallen asleep in between two moments and awakened inside a dream. 

I allowed myself to slide into the fantasy. 

For now, this was my enchanted moment - full of spells and smell of sandalwood and dreams and magic.

And a whirling cobra.