The amazing thing was that although my face was being peppered by (about) three million bugs poised and hovering directly in front of me and my speeding bicycle, not a single little creature flew into my right or into my left eye. What are the chances of that happening in a perfectly honest universe?
Let's figure this out scientifically. Assume that all those many black specs are indeed inanimate objects, forming a three dimensional array of variegated shapes oriented at random positions in space, each dot moving at a pre-specified velocity. Considering these parameters, the chance of at least one direct hit nearly one hundred percent. In fact, there should be at least as many impacts per second as the surface of my presence overlaps their trajectories as a function of my own velocity and the unwavering direction I am travelling.
I speed through one cloud of insects and then another and then another. I hold my hand in front of me at an extended arm length away, in an attempt to displace the approaching mini-meteorites while at the same time trying not to obstruct my view.
However, the truth of the matter is much different than you might expect. Those specs are in reality little living creatures, with souls and brains and intensely contracting muscles flapping the wings. They see me well in advance. They can and will at the very last moment affect their position in such a way as to best avoid impacting that concave liquefied surface of my left eye and my right eye approaching at a tremendous speed. Or so it appears to them.
In addition to this, these miniscule creatures have what is known as an accelerated reaction time. This means that their frame of time is widened, awareness from their pinpoint consciences extended, blurred far enough from the now to prepare for danger ahead of time. So that they have a higher chance of surviving even the most unpredicatable events like giant approaching faces with bulging eyeballs hanging out. One split second becomes for them five long seconds, or maybe even more, which if this were true should be enough time to avoid impact, even if at the very last moment.
However, too often when I make it back home I have to stand in front of the mirror, and with poking fingers I attempt to displace the wedged little beasts, the poor things, which turn my eyes all red and swollen, as they have died for no particular reason at all. At least none that I can think up.