Dear Curiosity Journal,

It was another sauna Sunday on the farm, and with snow in the forecast, we’re trying to finish the roof. I blasted some 90s jams to keep my mind off of my cold fingers and fear of heights. The snow and ice underfoot made the task seem all the more dangerous and I kept my center of gravity snug to the roof as I laid out the grid pattern and Rufus screwed in the strips of wood. After lunch, we started attaching the metal roofing. I was on the ground, shimmying sheets up to Rufus where he fitted them into place. He asked me to pass him a section from the bed of the truck and I grabbed it, but it blocked my view of the ground in front of me and I tripped over a pile of frozen gravel. Time snapped into slow motion. I couldn’t see how to avoid hitting my head on the chunk of concrete ahead, but by some miracle, I got my hands out in front of me just in time. The relief of not being knocked out momentarily stalled the realization of the sharp pain in my leg as I emerged from beneath the sheet of roofing. Rufus rushed down to assess the situation and I told him I felt like passing out. I pulled my pant leg up and was relieved there was no blood, just the start of a nasty bruise on my right shin, red and dented in by the unforgiving rocks. I limped to the house with my arm around Rufus’s shoulder, still feeling woozy, but thankful I’d only fallen from the ground and not the roof. We arranged ice and elevation and calmed our nerves from the close call with the familiar phrase, “It could have been a lot worse”.