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I’ve been spending time downtown lately.  Our lawyer’s office is the top floor one of many high-rise towers.  The only thing that separates them are concrete walks and fountains.  I’ve always wondered at the amount of water that’s used here in the desert.  Everywhere are pools, fountains and sprinklers, as if there is an endless supply.  There is so much to look at here. The mirrored windows reflect light and images and the angles make it hard to center yourself.   But in the middle, there are always palm trees.  They ground me.  They give me a feeling of being somewhere exotic even in the midst of traffic and smog.  If an exodus is what waits for us, if that is what this year brings, there will be a sense of lose on many levels…what I’ll miss most is the towering palms surrounding me.  You can see them off the highways, in every neighborhood, silhouetted against our desert sunsets.  I found out they aren’t native to Phoenix.  They’ve were imported and grown in foreign soil.  Somehow they still flourish.  I guess they are a sign of hope for me.  That maybe these Canadians will be allowed to stay–that somehow we belong, even if we are not native.

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