She put a jug of water on to boil then moved to the window to view a dawn sky the colour of blood. She thought it might rain; at least that is what the saying says: ‘Red in the morning shepherd’s warning’...
‘But it shouldn’t matter’ she thought ‘I own no sheep and the sky is calling.’
She changed into a light cotton dress of corn-flower blue that she had been saving for just such an occasion. She then slipped her feet into her softest moccasins. The breeze stealing through the window felt brand new and naïve and open to disenchantment all of which she deemed omens to seize the moment, to pluck the day, to ****** banality and finally cash in on happiness.
She sat for a moment to contemplate her decision and to savour the mutinous peace she felt. Then a **** crowed, unpleasantly. Its suddenness made her glance again passed the dusty predictability of her every day detention and out onto that siren world of unexpected promise.  But the sky had bled out to an anemic wash. The day felt second-hand.
She left the window and turned her attention to the jug. Its water had all but evaporated. ‘Just like my dreams’ she thought. ‘Tomorrow perhaps. There’s always tomorrow’.
(mish 2016)