And someone else this morning planned to get somewhere on Highway 158, which is the road to my yoga teacher's house.
The people who planned to go somewhere were going fast. One was headed east, one west.
They ran into each other. I don't know details. "Head-on collision" said the cop directing traffic. It looked like every emergency and rescue vehicle in Jefferson County was there, lights flashing. Two ambulances were heading west as I pulled up and had to stop. Both had their lights on, no sirens, they were not rushing.
The remains of the car I saw didn't look like a car at all. It was tiny as if every molecule of car had been compressed. There was no car form in that twisted metal and plastic. None. No one could have survived that.
There were people standing around. Relatives? The folks who live at the horse farm right there? Yes. They were gawking, they were crying, they were stunned. How can we understand such sudden violent death?
People speed down that two-lane country road all the time. They pass on the double yellow. I get passed a lot. I get tail-gated. Hurry, hurry, hurry! I can feel the frustration of people who are not content going ten miles an hour over the speed limit. There are curves. There are trees. There are driveways. There are horses and animals and children. Hurry, hurry! I have to get there in a hurry! I am late!
I did not make it to yoga. They wouldn't let me pass through that snarl of emergency vehicles, that scene of sudden death. That's okay for me. I turned around and came home. I will take my walk.
But someone- someone did not make it to where they were going in a hurry on this gray day.
And they never will.
Hard to understand.
Let's not be in such a hurry that we lose our minds, our lives. Okay?