View from the High Level Diner

Look out the window says my Cree friend.

I see the river. I see the trees. I see the sun shining down, he says.

What do you see?

I see the bridge. I see cars. I see buildings across the river.

And I wonder.

Generations ago. What did your ancestors see?

Did they see the river, the trees, the sun shining down?

What did my ancestors see?

Empty spaces, waiting to be filled with their dreams?

And did they know their dreams would crush yours?