He flies over the streets of walking figures below. They push, they shove, and they tap their feet as they tap their watches. Impatient, careless. He watches as they toss aside their plastic cups, half full of brown liquid, on the side of buildings where they meet the lifeless concrete. Few look up, but those who do point and call him unlucky, a bad-omen. He thinks back to a time where the Anishinaabe cared for the land and each other, a time where they laughed and shared stories full of hidden teachings as they work together. Raven lands in a tree surrounded by buildings and lifeless ground. Between Raven's tree and a tree a few meters away, a tin can flows with plastic and foul smells. He continues his flight, not wanting to get chased away.

The overhanging clouds split apart as the ground becomes lush and full of life. Trees swaying, bushes rustling, animals calling. Raven glides down into the treetops, spotting a small building made of tree lumber. It is well crafted and sings of the life and love in it. There's a wooden bowl with a modest amount of seed and a braid of sweetgrass next to it. He looks through the window where an Anishinaabe woman leans against an Anishinaabe man, an elder positioned behind her. The cries of life soon follow, and Raven is reminded of the good there still is and how with this, it may grow into how it used to be.