This weekend started like any other. Friday was a bit crazy, and I spoke to Will that night. He had gone up to the mountains to draw that day, and about 1 o'clock there was a head-on collision between two motorcycles about a mile down the road from where he was drawing. He told me about it with the same regret that we always speak of the weekend accidents. There are dozens. Every day, several a day. He said this one was especially bad and he saw the helicopter go away with the injured, and from the mangled wreakage of the bikes he didn't think either survived. Sad, but part of life - they all go up there and speed and risk everything to have that one ride.

The next day, Saturday, we went to the mountains together and took a drive. We were thinking about drawing together at the tree, but the marine layer was thick and the moisture isn't good for drawing with paper. So, we passed the area where the bad wreak was, and there was a large blood spot on the road. We commented with regret again how stupid it was to die like that. On our way to Newcomb's ranch house, we got stopped behind two more accidents. One more serious than the other, and the helicopter came to take both of them away (at two separate wreaks.) One hit a tree, and the other, we don't know what she hit. Again, sitting there behind an accident watching the medical emergency teams do their job, we commented how this should be an education for the dozens of motorcyclists waiting with us until the road cleared. At Newcomb's, we were parked next to the Forest Service truck and I struck up a friendly conversation with one of the guys and asked him about the wreak yesterday, as we were talking about the other two that morning. He said it was only one fatality, not two. I left and went back to lunch with Will and thought, "I would probably feel different about it if I knew the person. But it is stupid how they ride up here and risk everything..."

We went on our day, and visited a friend down the hill. After leaving her house, we called another friend to stop by and see their new house under construction. She told us that one of Will's friends, that I knew as well died in a motorcycle accident on Friday afternoon. We both asked if it was on Angeles Crest Highway. It was. That was Yakob's blood on the pavement. That night we spent at his wake with his widow and his son. He was most definately a risk taker, a retired Israeli air force pilot, a man that sailed around the world, by himself, without a life-raft. He even tested motorcycles for the manufacturers. But he died instantly on Friday in a head-on collision and behind him he left an entire life's worth of people wondering about how fast it all goes by. Wondering about how life is so uncertain. Wondering if tomorrow we truly do have.

I've spent the last two nights seeing his soul leave his body on that stretch of the road. I can't get it out of my head. We spend so much on protecting life and fighting diseases, but there are times when death comes violently, unexpectedly, and without any warning. So, live every day as if it is your last, love people unconditionally, and do not hesitate to prepare your soul for the life to come. You never know when you might greet it around the corner.