the collision of elements

Every day, all day long, little collisions casting off bits of spark and smoke. Mere specks of violence, some of these; others shuddering explosions. Chains and chains of collisions encircling the globe. Not the butterfly flapping its wings, these, but the butterfly caught helplessly in the roiling surge of wind off the windshield tumbling and smashing bloodily against the next in the procession of windshields. Tiny verbal collisions, misstatements, misunderstandings, misinterpretations; Collisions of larger words, more complex, words forced into shuddering silence; collisions that rage like summer mountain fires, that smear gritty smoke into the air, that call for police intervention, that reverberate and generate additional collisions. Collisions of eyes. Collisions of tongues. Collisions of hands and feet. Collisions of fears and tears and collisions of laughter on busy streets. Daily collisions. Elements colliding.