I’m traveling south on State Route 23,
the day, sun-bright with glossy, golden glow.
I anticipate purchasing a couple of pumpkins
from Renick’s Farm.

I pull into a parking space. Saturday
has brought many people to retrieve pumpkins
from the 15-plus-acre-pick-your-own-pumpkin
patch. A bright sea of orange covers the field
like an autumnal carpet. Though I’m glad
to wade into the patch, I spot a wooden, farm
wagon heaped with pumpkins, choose two
perfectly round ones that would make outstanding
jack-o’ lanterns or decorations for the front porch.

I pay, pull back onto the highway.
One second later, an oncoming car, exceeding
the speed limit, tears off the front of my Kia Optima.
An airbag presses me against the steering wheel.
I struggle free of the seat belt and the driver’s seat.
Outside, I stand stunned, hear an ambulance siren
coming from the distance. Pieces of pumpkin lie
on pavement like the orange of a shattered sunset.