Since I’ve been home I’ve been driving my brother’s old car. It’s basically a hail-dented cockpit with an engine. When I first drove it yesterday, I didn’t like the seats, the clutch, the mirrors, the stereo, the seat belts…
But tonight I drove into the prairie at sunset and back home in the dark, and I loved everything about it. The shape of the shift knob felt right in my hand — better than any car I’ve driven. The pulsing reverb from the engine wasn’t annoying, but a pleasing confirmation. Even the way the whole thing shook when I slowed down to a stop was a little charming.
Only one thing broke this weird little trance: just as I was crossing back into town, the most singularly perfect cricket chirp came through the window. I was driving 60 mph. I was listening to music. I can’t even begin to explain the physics of the situation. It’s impossible. But I heard this cricket just as clear as if it had been sitting on my shoulder.
I don’t have any mystical conclusions to make here except to say that this was a scientific miracle. There’s no reason that I should have been able to hear this cricket, and yet I did. I am quietly stunned.