Accidents   Nearly everyone says it — Time slowed down, they proceed with the details: he was fried, the weather and the skid, some puncture wounds,   a little girl in a red dress beside the road.                 It’s well worth pondering: Time slowed down? Just another rogue variable hiding   in the weeds?                        Time waxes and wanes, floods us with the moment of impact, the lights, the glint of his windshield, the way she stood   so still, so still . . .                                Elastic time, you might stop altogether, look back, turn around, take it all back — the crash, the blood, the night.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont October 2014