via Wordpress’ 365 Days of Writing Prompts from 2013, beginning on Sept. 24
For a moment today, time stands still — but you can tweak one thing while it’s stopped. What do you do?
Inside this beat up sedan, while September rain pelts the roof, a steady drum to complement whatever is playing on Pandora, I grip the wheel and notice—finally—time has stopped.
Today, at the intersection of Route 27A and Route 1 at 10:01:07 a.m. cars pause in the street, a man in his red pickup truck has his index in his nose, his other hand on the wheel, his face twisted in quite the unsightly way. The woman next to me stares ahead not yet thinking, right in the middle of If I get to Barrigada by—
She hasn’t rolled up the passenger side window all the way, a single rain drop had been eyeing her silver Silverado, and manages to slide between the sliver of tinted glass.
Rain drops hang in the air, smiling, happy to be free from the clouds above ready to crash head first into the pavement, ready to float up again for another chance at eating dirt. The clouds above sigh, relieved to be free of so many drops inside them. So tired of the Sun and the Wind telling them where to go next.
The silence that comes with stopping time is deafening. When there aren’t seconds for sound waves to bounce off of, everything becomes one single sound that fills you. To visualize it, it isn’t a flat sound wave associated with no noise. Instead it’s a continuous block of all the noises that ever were.
Save for the black butterfly under a bush I see near the vegetable stand, I can’t think of anything I’d like to tweak more than the noise.
I turn it off so I can live in this moment.