Five perfect little toes peek out from under the blue towel, while the foot's owner lays quietly in the sweet cradle of sleep. Her pretty straw-coloured hair is only a little ruffled, and the soft rise and fall of her chest assures the casual onlooker that she is, in fact, alive.

I wonder if her mother - a quiet and unassuming young woman thumbing engrossedly through a copy of "Nexus" magazine - cannot afford proper blankets for her baby. It is not a judgement - towels are just as good as blankets, and as long as a child is kept sufficiently warm, they don't really seem to care.

I just feel like reaching over and tucking the blue towel over and around those perfect five toes, and keep the cold day from touching that sweet, sleeping child.

«  »