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Sleety streets on an early Monday morning. Sophie and I step and skate along gingerly, the ice crackling underfoot. Schools have a delayed opening, and the neighborhood is hushed and still. An occasional car whooshes by slowly, very slowly.
Suddenly, an SUV looms into view at the crest of our hill. Sophie and I stop, transfixed. The world, it seems, moves into slow motion and the truck swivels off to one side of the road and then arcs back to the other. I can hear the wheels spin on the ice as the truck wheels around in one perfect, graceful circle, coming to rest, miraculously, pointing straight ahead on the correct side of the road.
Sophie and I are almost parallel to the driver now, and I can see into his window. He is looking at me, too, as though to ask, “Did that really happen?” All three of us let out a collective breath of relief. Slowly, very slowly, he begins to move down the hill again. And we, too, resume our icy stroll.