Although Silas is still very small, he has apparently learned to ride a large motorcycle. He rides up to me, on the driveway out by the barn at my folks'. But after stopping, he has trouble getting going again, and I help him twice. The first time, he rides unsteadily toward the barn and runs into something and crashes. The second time, he rides down the driveway and hits a bicycle; the pedal of the bike strikes him to the ground, and the motorcycle runs out from under him. Both crashes look rather severe, but Silas doesn't seem to mind.

He gets going a third time, I recall not how, and rides down the driveway and across the road. There is a car coming, and he seems almost on a collision course with it. He has become very small, about the size of a mouse, and time slows as the paths of the car and the child cross. I'm watching the wheels and I can't exactly tell what happened. I run down to the road, and I'm calling out to Silas, hoping to hear his voice from the bushes on the other side of the road. There is a run-over squirrel in the road, twitching its last, reminding me of one possible outcome.