On Wednesday morning, I decided to ride my bike along the Thompson Fence Line, a hilly pedestrian/bike path that follows the ridge above the community I live in. Coming down from the top of one of the steeper and longer hills, I came upon eight police cars, lights flashing, with yellow caution tape blocking both my trail and the road which ran alongside it. The basket of one of the hot air balloons that had been filling our skies all week was being dragged through the dirt and over a chamisa bush by the winch line of a tow truck. I glanced up. A power line stood directly above us. Something was clearly not right.
"Oh my god" I said, "And you were just watching?"
"Yeah. We were just standing on the hill there watching and then this all happened. It was terrible. I don't know if that guy is going to live or not".
I remembered that, as I sat at my kitchen table reading earlier that morning, the power had gone off for several minutes, and I knew that it had to have been from the hot air balloon hitting the power line. The next day, the news carried a photo and story of the fiery accident. Later, I learned that the man who had been so badly electrocuted had lost his arm, but was alive.
Holy smoke, Holly: takes my breath away...that life-changing-in-an-instant thing...definitely "the mystery of accidents."ReplyDelete