What do the mountains think?

There is a small, microscopic, bruise on the skin below my eye. It is the remnants of a life that tragically ended this evening. I have heard that looks can kill. I never thought that the soft, fragile skin that cradles my eyes was capable of such a heinous act. The ground echoed through my shoes with each pounding step, creating a rhythm inside me that set the cadence of my rambling thoughts. The sting caught me off guard and interrupted my meditation. The insects tiny body bounced off my eye and quickly to the ground. I shook it off and kept on running.
It amazes me how many insects have ended their short lives by flying into me while I was running. I have inhaled them, stepped on them, swatted them, & swallowed them (one time a large insect flew into my mouth- I was disgusted, but having such a good run. So I swallowed it— felt it squirm and fight for life in my throat until it finally gave up and accepted it's fate). I don't really understand why they don't fly around me. Although, I bet mountains think the same thing when an airplane crashes into their snowy caps.