After the rains, you came. A bright bolt of blue lighting up the sullen Sunday scenery of my backyard. Your body, the brown of bears and horses and monkeys–distant cousins in your DNA. Tell me, little bird, what tales you’ve seen from above? What love songs do the forests whisper to the spirits, right before that grunting yellow machinery lumbers to satisfy his loins? How does the moon feel at night, when man’s eyes are lured away from her beauty and locked onto his shiny new HDTV, MacBook Pro, PalmPilot, iPhone? What do you feel on a day like today, when the rainclouds have scored a touchdown and the earth weeps because a mortal is sincerely enjoying the weather?