Rain, Again It comes like a thought half-formed, pressing its weight into soil, soft hands smoothing edges of the world. Everything bends to listen. The trees bow their slow heads, rooftops hum in low voices, earth swells something like memory— or relief. Water beads along the veins of a leaf, pauses, then lets go. A crow flares black against the pale hush, carries weather in its wings. Somewhere, the angel river stirs, not knowing why. Nothing runs from the rain today. Not the cracked earth, not the sleeping roots, not the tired hands pressed to cold windows. Even the silence stays.
The peregrine falcon, the fastest creature on Earth, swoops down on its prey at 400 km/h without being affected by the enormous air pressure. The secret? A small bone in its nose called the “tubercles”, which slows the airflow and protects its respiratory system. This engineering marvel inspired aeronautical engineers, and the design of modern engines was inspired by it, which increased the speed of aircraft and increased their stability. The American B-2 bomber, worth a billion dollars, was inspired by the aerodynamics of the peregrine falcon during an attack.
What if stars were synapses? It would explain the trillions, Each thought a pinprick of light In the vast neural night. What if quasars were eurekas? Brilliant as all suns combined, Ancient revelations still traveling Through the cosmic mind. What if black holes were sorrows? Infinitely black, seemingly endless, Consuming all light and matter Until time becomes meaningless. What if the multiverse were dreams? Colorful clouds of possibility, Where new thoughts take shape In the cosmic probability. What if comets were memories? Streaking through consciousness, Periodic returns of communal wisdom Through celestial vastness. What if galaxies were ideas? Spiral arms of structured thought, Rotating around central truths That gravity and wisdom wrought. What if the universe is consciousness? Expanding ever quicker with self realism, Each observer a point of awareness In the grand cosmic mechanism. Perhaps we are universe dreaming, Of stars and souls and spaces between, The edge of mind and cosmos blurring Into one quantum stream.
