I realized then that life was short, very short.
We peddled in typical five year old abandonment placing the fullness of our concentration on the push of our feet. I rode as fast as a tricycle with blocks upon the pedals would allow. My friend pulled ahead and continued from the driveway and out into the street.
A new family had moved into town from the Canadian section the St Laurence river. They were catholic and in many ways different from us. We were just now beginning to become familiar with the kids in the family. On his way home from work that day, the father never expected to have a five year old dart out into the middle of the road. He never expected to have a five year old twisted up in tricycle lodged underneath his car.
Its strange how life continues. The father has long since died. Even their house is gone as the fire department used it for fire training and burned it down. The owner of the driveway, the scene of our race, has long since died. My old home is now the home of a new family as my parents too have long since passed.
Ah, we take life all to seriously. The spark takes hold and develops into a fire that warms us and cooks for us and give us light. The fuel burns and the fire is extinguished. It is just how it is.