Write 5 lines each on: your bedroom, the view from your window view, and your street.
Tonight’s bedroom has become storage for the rest of the household’s junk: but even when I lived here that was not an unusual occurrence. Getting to my window is worse than awkward, but by balancing on the toes of one foot, stretching out my arms, and gritting my teeth, I am just able to brush the blinds with my fingertips; tease the cord into my grip, and open them with difficulty. I almost never attempt this so it is always a surprise to see the treasure scattered over my sill, unable to be seen from outside.
Beyond my window is ‘The Snakefield’ –not that I have ever seen a snake there, or trust the account of anyone who claims they have. Encircling the field is a broken wall and over that towers the wilderness. Just the weeds grow taller than my diminutive 5’4”. I know that directly before me and treacherously shielded from sight is the open manhole Jo fell down one summer, and if I was brave enough to glance to the left –I abstain because I would fall– I would see the tree once feuded over by the few kids around when I was younger.
My street is just a stretch of road 100 yards long with a row of miner’s cottages on one side and a little housing estate on the left. Beyond are fields in every direction. Quarry trucks roar past occasionally but the sheep, cattle, and my friend’s peacocks compete unseen for aural dominance. My front garden overflows with greenery. It looks like something or someone has lain in the plants beneath my window, and the sight of my neighbour’s car prompts me to duck out of sight of the unnerving man.