I caught her dreaming, her head cupped in honey coloured hands. Her autumn hair escaping from it’s plait, dancing with the lace curtains in the window breeze. Her five year old eyes drinking in the cold stone streets and chimney lines. Her mouth wore a wistful smile and as i spoke and broke her dream she turned and laughed, scattering hopeful tones across the dull sitting room. I dreamt this city changed, she said... like when i paint colour on pictures in my drawing books; those concrete slabs grew flowers out of the cracks and those chimneys turned into trees.
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