Thinking routine

The girl was angry.

Her face was crimson, you could almost see the

steam coming from her ears like a kettle reaching
the boil. How could anybody be so hurtful?

The pane of glass trembled in the old, rickety

window frame. In the background there was
whistling sound as the child pushed its way through
all of the tiny, hidden spaces. Outside, leaves
danced on the pavement like ballet dancers on
stage.

It's a windy today.