Approaching cars at night when I was walking on the rural road my grandparents lived on when I visited them. Something about the dark, quiet stillness of the night being interrupted by a distant car engine that grows louder, and then the white haze cast upon the treetops and then the beams themselves as the car appears and the driver has me in his sights, exposed on the side of the road. Sometimes I would hide behind a tree before they could see me.
When I'd return home, cars and traffic were everywhere, and more perilous, but they didn't bother me at all. Only in the country.