Psithurism – the sound of the wind through the trees. That’s why we moved here – away from the crash of cars on the shorelines of garage doors, away from the rage emitted by the people you meet by “accident” – accidents don’t happen on purpose so why get enraged?
It’s your blood boiling. However automobiles can be fixed if the crash of metal on metal at high or even low speeds wasn’t catastrophic. So why burden your soul with these objects? Granted one must get from here to there. But it can always wait. Oh, there will be those who hit you purposely, but it’s because they’re in so much need they chose you correct the directions to their destination.
One shouldn’t leave the scene of any accident without apologizing even if it was not you at fault. You arrived there, too. The attention of the driver of the car at fault wasn’t on you. However, don’t let anyone curse you for being in the way or driving slower than they’d have liked.
Have you ever noticed how drivers who race to get in front of you are always at the same red traffic light three blocks away?
This is the sound of the wind through the trees. Accidentally meeting on platforms or roads with unintended consequences. We are polarized by them, yet also congealed into a single warring faction against one another. Why when we know something is untrue can we stand around and shake our heads, “yes” in unity around a false value. It’s not valuable to anyone. Can you hear the grumbling of the loneliest people in the world? The people who seem to be the most popular have no idea who really loves them. Give them a test and ask if they’re loved – and can they really say the sycophants around them define love? I haven’t the time to pray for the preyers.
You may on that day, with an accident in the way of your progress, experience ellipsism – that sense of sadness you might experience when you realize your life’s term will not include the future. And as I hear the psithurism, the rustle of the leaves in the trees, or smell the petrichor on the highway, the scent of oil coming up from the road after the rain, I realize nothing accidentally happened that day.
Getting in the car that morning, understanding things would change, my chemotherapy, my appointment structure from in person to telemedicine, my driving habits, my nutrition, my entirety of existence, that I’d fall not far and get up again.
Here I am five years gone maybe five to go of course if I am to continue to be so lucky, and see the true resilience of myself and this planet. Neither of us have long to go so I inhale the oil, feel the breeze and think of how long I might sit waiting for the case number and how it all really doesn’t matter to me in the long run because there’s no long run. It’s been a short one so far, and I feel some sadness that this may be my very last accident, like 2020 may have been my last new year’s eve.
Or maybe not. Hope. That naughty word I love to taste as it delicately rolls through my lips like a kiss or a whistle. Hope became an endangered emotion like a species of animal. The fragile ecosystem, the human mind, may be the last place I see bit isn’t that true for all of us?