“We’ve started our descent,” the flight attendant says. The plane banks to the right. When I look out the window, I can see straight down to the trees and streets and buildings. The houses are each about the size of a penny on the window, even smaller. We’re low enough that I can make them out as being houses with grey shingle roofs. One house has a circular driveway. It’s larger than the other houses and bordered by trees.

I wonder to myself, “What’s going on inside that house?” Is anyone home? Are they on vacation? Does a family live there? Are the parents happily married? Are the children happy to be children? Have they had lunch? Do they have a dog? Is someone taking a shower? Is someone doing something they’re not supposed to be doing? What’s going on inside that house?

I wonder, and I bet nobody else on the plane wonders about exactly the same thing as me. The plane levels out and the big house with the circular driveway slides out of view. White clouds fill the window again.