I could describe what I’m seeing or hearing. I could even go deeper and explain how I feel and what’s happening around me or comment on the news. I could work past the layers of anxiety and regret that hang on me and drip like sweat off a boxer. I could discuss the weather and evoke the clouds passing faster than usual and the sun popping in and out as if in a child’s game. Or the crystal hanging in the window casting a thousand rainbows around the room. The workers next door and the cutting, grinding, and I feel like I’m falling, but there’s no worry of hitting bottom. I’m just falling. Letting go of holding on. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, the one with no shackles, only the drifting of time where memories are of no use. The most interesting thing is how the sun illuminates the dirt on the window and, oh look, it’s a baby Scrub-Jay. They’ve finally flown.