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The Collision

     The sun was dipping below the horizon, but still the wildflowers of the Sierras lured me from one field to another. I paid scarcely any attention to the cars speeding past on the nearby highway, but delighted in the colors and smells of the summer twilight. I paused near the yellowness of poppies; I caressed the blue of lupine on the slopes. The shadows lengthened in the dusk, but still the hues and scents compelled me to remain near the highway.
     The flowers grew sparsely on the shoulders of the road, and I was about to turn back when a stab of light and a rush of air sent me reeling like a leaf in a gale. I settled again on the very edge of the road, and in a moment I felt another exhilaration of light and wind, drawing me in a vortex above the highway. A pressure, a flash, and headlights transfixed me in the center of the road. Just before the crushing impact, I saw a child's eyes staring at me: staring through a windshield which was covered with yellow-white splotches.
     "Oh, look, Grandma, look---a big butterfly just hit my window."