Time to clear leaves before a patio gathering.
No, upon lifting the leaf blower, previously used by another, I did not notice that the bottom cover (over the blades) had fallen off.
At the push of a button the leaf blower was a lion awakened; the leaves, startled chipmunks running for cover. I felt boyhood joy wielding this machine.
Then it happened. The blower ambushed me.
One hundred percent of us say the same thing after an accident, "It all happened so fast!" Obviously, no sudden strike = no accident!
Great luck that the blower's blades, spinning a thousand times a second, were rubber, not steel. Had it been the latter, I would be missing the tip of the little finger on my left hand.
That fingertip, though still throbbing, will be fine save one thing: Loss of feeling. Hardly life-threatening. Yet, every story tells us more than what happened.
There is nothing that focuses the mind on the body it occupies more than a sudden injury. Indeed, is not it odd that a sharp blow to a tiny part of us causes pain to every part of us?
Any injury is among the "thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to," as Shakespeare says through Hamlet's immortal "To be, or not to be" soliloquy.
Most value sight and hearing above touch, taste, smell. Fingertips symbolize touch. Imagine ten numb fingertips.
My throbbing fingertip reminds me to be grateful for something: his nine healthy brothers typing away right now on the keyboard of this computer.
-Erie Chapman
