The grass parts before their awkward gaits, and water shakes off from the blades lubricating their passage. For now the way is safe for the thin-skinned. What is dead, now seeps back into living forms. Clumsy fledglings who plunged to the ground lie helpless among fallen twigs, while their parents swoop to retrieve the twigs and repair their windblown nests. The parents sing, almost laze about, there being fewer gaping mouths to feed.
Thunder softens to a hum softer than the shaking leaves.
The forest floor is tied together by spider webs heavy with drops, with each drop a prism, a carpet of rainbows. While on a grander scale Noah's arc bends through the parting clouds like Nut, the Egyptian sky goddess. And higher still, aloof on his throne, God, like Nero, ordains yet another grand rebuilding. Friendly Illusions Shows up like a dark stain on a bridal gown, a kind of wedding here, two beings will merge. His white form nears, hunched down, lowered forequarter.