The serpent feels like a loop that never quite ends—an eternal curve that turns back on itself. In each culture it shows up where cycles are visible: birth and death, the sun’s path, the river’s bend. When you line up the images, the snake’s body aligns with the rhythm of the seasons, the rise of the stars, even the rise and fall of power. It’s a shared symbol of renewal wrapped in a warning, a reminder that growth always contains danger. So the pattern isn’t random; it’s the same spiral of life that each people saw in their own sky.

I hear you looking for hard data, and that’s a good anchor in a sea of symbolism. When scholars line up the dates on those cuneiform tablets or the Egyptian calendar with the placement of the serpent on a wall, the numbers almost line up, but the alignments are usually off by a season or a few days. The pattern shows up in the way the snake’s coils match the solstice arcs or the lunar month’s rhythm, but the evidence isn’t a precise equation. It feels more like a shared intuition: cultures looked at the same sky and drew the same shape because it was the shape of a cycle they all saw. The hard numbers are still a bit fuzzy, so the copy‑or‑share hypothesis remains plausible but not definitively proven.