I’ve left the balcony door open. Wrapped up in my mum’s knitted jumper the length of my knees, a moment ago I met a world that spoke of something else. Stepping into a snow globe without the snow. Sky illuminated from beyond its glass, the winter branches melting like ink against iridescent pearl. Bare trees less menacing, a warmth in the air. Is this a spring whisper at 5pm in February? The blackbird’s note-jewels flood the strangely lit air, I imagine his song is just for me. A moment later he chastises someone, a warning siren. Perhaps the cats hidden in the grass, the birman and the moggy, sapphire eyes…