What it means (A flash fiction)

The sky was bright blue, few clouds scarred its sight. The asphalt shimmered under the glare of the sun. There was a slight breeze that blew the leaves of the tree, pushing them against each other forcing them to hold on for dear life. The ants strolled lazily up the tree heaving grains of rice up and up into a knot and out of sight. A pidgin hooted once and then fell silent. The telephone pole was held up by nothing but the car, the hood pinning it against the brick wall. The hood itself was wrapped around it, steam hissing from its broken engine.

There is a terrible silence after an accident. It seems to stretch into forever. Time slows down and for a moment you actually understand what it means to be alive.
And just as suddenly as the silence began; the sounds of life returned. The ants crawled up the tree, the leaves shuffled amongst themselves, the pidgin hooted and the horn honked.

Sirens filled the air, mourning wail for the newly deceased.