—Muriel Rukeyser
I WANTED to write something about ideas floating in the air, how I’d catch them like butterflies, glean inspiration from their colorful wings, and then set them free. I wanted to write something about how the words aspire and inspire are both about air, about breathing, and how being inspired to write has something to do with literary aspirations being as natural and grounding as breathing. To aspire is always a form of hope, of being on this planet another moment, living and breathing.
Air is consciousness, blood, life. It is song, speech, story. It is fuel, fire, free.
But there’s something else in the air I can’t ignore. I have tried and I can’t. This is also a quality of air: If you smell smoke on the wind, there’s fire. It’s undeniable. We’ve all gotten used to checking the AQI—air quality index—if the atmosphere outside looks too hazy, orange, or otherwise off. We can feel the pollution stinging in our throats, nose, eyes, and lungs.
