Once a television was a piece of furniture. It sat in the corner of the room and the family gathered around it. It knew its place.

In this world they have found wings, circling this strange stone tower, settling into its hollow, returning again and again to where the others are nesting.

I kept asking myself, during this time, where I was nesting. What I was returning to. What was holding me when everything else felt uncertain.

And I noticed that most of us, without ever quite deciding to, had built our nests inside screens. Inside the warm familiar noise of content that knew what we wanted before we did. We kept coming back. Wings folding. Aerials up. Receiving.