It rained today, and the wind blew hard. I bought three pairs of boots when we moved here, and although the 20-below pair hasn;t had any wear yet, the others have proven most useful.
Along towards sunset, the sky broke up enough to let the sun blast through. The glare along the roads was stunning -- the Guy was driving more by instinct than anything else--and I have only mentioned once to him that I the reason I'm nervous in the car is that I've always had the feeling that I would someday meet my end in a fiery crash. "Fiery crash" is exactly the way my mind names it, when it's dusk and I'm watching for the deer that's bound to bound out of the fawn-coloured foliage. "Fiery crash" -- the driver who's weaving up ahead, so that The Guy decides the safest course is to pass him--at 85mph.
Sometimes, he'll be driving, and I'll say, "ooh, watch out, or..."
And he says, "or what?"
and I don't answer. When I don't answer, it's because if I open my mouth, what will come out will be "fiery crash".
I'm not sure why the idea of a fiery crash is more horrifying to me than a wet, rainy one, but it is. In fact, dying in the crash isn't the real fear. Crashing, with its attendant noise, confusion and shards of metal and glass, that's where the terror comes in for me. Impact scares me much more than actually dying...Remind me sometime to write about why, if truly practical people were running the world, automobiles would be made of styrofoam, and entirely surrounded by giant rubber bumpers.
And all that said, it's time to get in the car and go home.
(Added later: this link will help my blog get noticed! I am ambivalent, but here goes anyway...)
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