You were in the third grade the first time you wrote on a wall. The older girls made fun of your spelling. Strange that all these years later you’d wind up singing “Woohoo! Woohoo!” surrounded by thousands of dollars’ worth of banjos. The tips of your fingers must be sore and bloody. But here’s what I don’t understand – your eyes don’t want to close. You watch for signs of change, maybe trees thrashing about in a kind of panic or birds wobbling in midair as they fly from tree to tree. If you can do that trick, you can do this one. If you can do this one, you can do that one. We run things in the forest when the wolf isn’t around.