The World from My Window The world from my window is changing. As I write, branches that have looked for months like dry, brittle kindling are now thick and sprouting buds. Colours are emerging. Purple capped grape hyacinths shrug off pebbles in the garden below, and green grass cracks the pavement. The air, as it comes through the open window each morning, is thicker. Shadows creep along at new angles. And perhaps I should be embarrassed to admit, but it’s taken me twenty-six years to notice a

Violeta found all the black clothes in her wardrobe and lay them on her bed. She decided tomorrow, she’ll wear the black skirt, a black jumper and black tights. Violeta got into her unicorn sheets and dimmed the fairy lights lying over her bed. She grabbed Wolfie’s light blue tail and pulled him close to her. She wished him good night and he responded, Morning arrived. The leaves were flickering against the white wall in Violeta’s room. She stretched her legs out of bed and rolled up. The sky w

Rose is sitting on the windowsill of her bedroom, covered in a white and red blanket that has a furry inside coating. The blanket makes her feel as if she is sitting on a cloud as she looks out to the clear blue sky. The door suddenly opens and she eagerly turns to see who it is. A warm, friendly voice says: It was Rose’s grandfather, Harold. Her lips break into a huge smile and she responds, “Yay! Thank you, grandpa.” Her grandfather slowly makes his way towards her windowsill, placing the ho