Karen

I left my front door and the busy shouts of children and cars tooting reminded me that once again we were running late for school. That’s the trouble with living so close, there’s no time to catch up. “Coats!” I scream. My husband hates this. He says our house is like living in an episode of ‘Eastenders’ but the gentle approach never seems to get any results. The icy blast of rain prompts me to put my hood up as water leaks into the boots I knew I should have thrown away at the end of last winter. Earthy, bitter smoke fills my lungs and I quicken the girls to the narrow school alleyway, praying their little mouths don’t let the evil substance through. There. The branches growing overhead offer some protection from the wind and rain and that wonderful freshness of the morning rain fills the air again. “Hurry” I call as people rush past me having dropped off their kids already. The door is closed. I bang on the icy window and mentally remind myself to put gloves in my pocket as my already cracked hands start to bleed. Finally, a teacher. My heart hangs deep in my chest as I hug my youngest goodbye and she skips happily into school. Alone in the cold feels suddenly so much emptier as I fill my mind with all the tasks I need to achieve in the day ahead to alleviate that sadness and emptiness.