I’ve been looking out windows the last few weeks – in Istanbul, looking at the Bosphorus at 5 AM while eating figs the size of grapefruits. Or looking out the window in Shanghai a couple of weeks later, at skyscraper by decrepit building by modern by ancient but one after another like dominoes ready to rise or fall. Looking out the window in New York at the lights in all of the buildings that were lit up long after bedtime, though I didn’t know whose bedtime I was following. Or looking out the window of the LaLa at the bayou and the stillness of water and the beautiful reflective quality of light at dusk and dawn. Then looking out the window in Phoenix, at the craggy red mountains and bright blue sky and being one story above – I see underneath the navajo white of adobo structure as the ground.