It is the sky that inspires. It is the sky. The sky.

My husband and I have been struggling to imagine where our lives have led. Not where we expected. Not a bad place for us, only different. I am inclined, always, to consider the opposing view of any issue, a habit from childhood. My family debated issues as a sort of entertainment, sitting in the living room on only marginally comfortable furniture, talking. We talked and talked. We considered opposition as a matter of course, we switched sides.

What side am I on now?

This is the season the crows gather in Portland—hundreds. Thousands? They circle and land in the high branches of remaining mature trees, on the rulings of nearby rooftops. This condominium, this life is not where we ever expected to be when we were young and then middle-aged. Ou reality is surprising. Our reality is not the same as the reality of others. A new book chronicles Billionaires Row in New York City. Millions spent to preserve housing too high and large to be intimate—not homes, staging for wealth. The AWP was in Seattle last week. The Seattle downtown I recall is gone, and what has grown up in its place seems monstrous to me. Towers rising as if extruded. We drove past Eagles Auditorium in the depths of all those sky-blocking, water-view blocking towers and could not find our memory of that place. Lines of tourists waiting to take selfies at Starbucks with the original logo.

So here we are, already in the future. A place of privilege and power.

Look up from some place where you can see sky.

The light arriving, the light falling away. Choose.