She sat on the window sill, stretching precariously over her roof as she relished the morning sun. Mother hated when she did “dangerous” things such as sit over the roof, but she knew that she was stable and enjoyed the fresh air; besides, she did very little mother criticized.
With a content sigh she leaned her head on the frame and drew her feet up to the sill, looking over the fields and hills.
We cannot tell when we’re going to have accidents. They can happen anytime, anywhere. Even in our homes. We think that if we are in our homes, we are safe. No. Wrong. Here is one example.
My brother cried and cried. He got a cut. My mother went to his aid being two years old and wanted to go wherever and do and play anything.
“What happened? ” My mother asked.
” He cut it at the window sill.” I said.
“Window sill? Our window is broken?”. She said checking the window. She now knew we had to fix the window so nobody can get accidents. My brother stopped crying when my mom put bandaid on him.
a bird quietly sat chirping on the window sill looking inside the house with wooden furniture the window sill was a rainbow color of course no one knew what kind of bird it was that lived there they didn’t care they just looked at the sill with amazement and never looked away staring and soon the most sadess memory would come out from the back of their mind and kill the mind so they would soon drop dead the sill was amazing i am looking at it now what will i do if i cant look away i will die if i do look away i will for get the beatiful sill what an amazing sill where a bird would sit every morning and chirp and sing and peck at my eyes so how can i look away if i am dead
She didn’t mean to kill him. He just got in the way. Wrong place at the wrong time. A casualty of war, you might say. His head met the concrete window sill with the a crack three seconds after she pushed him out of her path. Red fluid soaked his own beige carpet. He had died on impact. His eyes, blown wide. Poor man probably had no idea what was going on. Shock, written all over his face.
She ran out of there as fast as she could. Just in time to slip the parcel she had been looking for into her purse.
sill lint cactus crumbs. daggers of paint, rips of wood. Little imaginary men running back and forth in the scream of white sunlight. cactuses one two three four. Under-watered, lacking in color. But there.
why do window have sills anyway? its just asking for something that shouldn’t go there to go there,. and windows don’t even need sills. there to small to hold a substantial amount of stuff so it always falls of. a window shelf would be useful, except they would jut out and you would always walk into them.
why do window have sills anyway? its just asking for something that shouldn’t go there to go there,. and windows don’t even need sills. there to small to hold a substantial amount of stuff so it always falls of .
like a window sill? thats funny cuz i dont even know what it means. i guess people are just stupud these days. i don’t think we’ll ever be able to get it back. but maybe we can.
I sat on the window sill and looked out at the dawn, the sun rising out of a blanket of mist just as you will rise out of the covers on the bed in a few hours, looking as delicate and bright as the morning sun and spreading your colours out into the world, filling me with the beauty of early morning all over again.
The game ended, and no one noticed anything unusual in the result. Killen and the old man sat in the penthouse of the hotel, their drinks resting on the sill of the open window. The wheelchair was parked in the corner, unneeded now. They had just cleared twelve million dollars in one night, and those young men downstairs celebrating with Gatorade thought they were the only winners.
sill on the windowsill will the sill still be on the will still the still will windmill mill the sill as the silly shills out the millies wills out on the hillys hills out ferak out weak out with the sills out gotta rock out mock out whether you’ve got the hawk out hawk on the sill the sill is me the sill is I the hawk is I
She woke up in the hospital, cards on a table next to her that also
had some type of cola and a plastic vase of tulips. The last thing
she remembered was angrily telling her to tell her two year old to pick up his toys. Her husband came in and said “Good you’re awake! You hit your head pretty hard on that window sill!”
She woke up in the hospital, cards on a table next to her that also
had some type of cola and a plastic vase of tulips. The last thing
she remembered was angrily telling her to tell her two year old to pick up his toys. Her husband came in and said “Good you’re awake! You
She perched beside the window, sitting cross-legged on it’s wide, bench-like sill. The corners of her lips were tilted slightly down, her eyes narrowed. Her whole body seemed to lean into the small hardcover book she held in her hands, it’s bright white binding standing out sharply in front of the multi-hued curtains. The afternoon sun shone through the window in a narrow column, catching and holding one of her small hands. Dust motes danced slowly around it. Completely unaware of the world around her, she was strikingly beautiful, but brutally so. You might have thought her inanimate.
She put the glass down on the window sill. Leaning on it, she could see out the window. It was a beautiful day, almost like nothing at all had changed. But everything ha. In a heartbeat, her life was different. And so, when in a few years it would be her turn to pick her own wedding dress, her godmother wouldnt help her choose it, like it had happened with her older sister. She picked the glass back up. Why stop now?
I always wanted a window sill I could sit on. Pillows, sunlight, the works. I assumed it was what I’d have when I grew up. Funny thing is, I never did much growing up. I got older, sure, older and older, watching as my skin wrinkled, as my hair turned white. But, I never grew up.
On the sill it sat. Waiting. Looking for God. Waiting for God. Waiting for life to start. On the sill it sat. Looking at what life held for it. Wondering how long that life would be. If more life would start because of it. On the sill it sat. Looking for something to live for, to chase. Something to give it meaning.
The window sill was empty, but for a small vase with a tall, slender stem of a budding flower. Amy looked out the window at the kids lining up to come in from the playground. “Ugh,” she grunted.
Night after night i sit on the sill of my window staring out at the stars and clouds usually accompanied by rain, thinking of you and all the things I never had the time to say. Words still get caught in the back of my throat and images hide themselves within my mind in locked boxes draped in spider webs. Theres more to the scene but its too dark to be described for your safe thoughts to think. And somehow i know that you are on the top floor of the house you grew up in sitting on the sill of the open window leading out to the balcony wondering if im still somewhere thinking of you thinking of me. If you should ever come across this, just know i am and always will be. Though I can’t seem to make it back to that place we discovered last summer, you know, that place Time can never touch…
A sill is a window sill. It’s a place where the plants sit and there is lots of sunlight. Other plants like to live on the window sill where it is pretty and pretty things get on with the sill very well. Sills are silly. They are silly like silly bricks are silly. Wow, 60 seconds goes really fast!
“Nothing much better than sitting in a cozy window seat with a cat that’s peering over the sill and making clucking noises at some unfettered creature out in the world,” said Malcolm, patting the cushion beside him.
“Sill.” She spoke the word softly to herself. She did not understand its meaning, nor did she know just how big an impact this word would have on her in less than twenty four hours. “Sill.” The word felt as unfamiliar on her
Flying through the wind, neither with it or against. Underneath it. The gravity #sill glides along unknown and not felt by reality, traversing webs of probability and dodging event after event until it settles into form within the other side of the wind. #oneword #oznolem
I threw down the brush attachment, kicked the vacuum cleaner clean across the room, and yanked the plug out of the wall. In the blessed silence I heard a sound like hail against the window pane. I turned, saw her there on the sill in a ridiculous outfit, dashing handfuls of sparkles at the glass and laughing like a lunatic. She yelled, “Let me in!” Hell if I was going to just wing my window open to a crazy foot tall fairy with a star on a stick. “What do you want?!” I yelled back. “Oh, sorry,” she yelled, “I thought you were the one screaming through tears for a better life. My mistake!” and she flew off.
I sat at the window sill, gazing out over the moor. It was rainy and clouded outside, but all I wanted to do was walk through the gardens and smell the roses. I just needed a little bit of escape from this stuffy house and insipid people.
she was standing on her sill waiting for som eone to tell her this wasn’t real. But no one came. She was alone again. Disappointed. Dead inside. Wondering if it was all worth it.Night was still, but the storm inside of her was raging. What to do now? She will run away again, there is nothing left to do, really.
on top of the window sill I spotted a small blue bird. I didn’t know where the bird had come from, or what it wanted. At 6 in the morning my fried brain barely noticed it at all.
It sat there looking listless. Try as she might, Lidia could never get the rose to brighten up. She regretted taking it from the garden. Each day she watched it wilt further and further. Soon the once vibrant, red petals began to curl and darken. She had thought setting it on the sill would make it come back, but to no avail.
It’s raining now. Hard. From where I sit on the window sill, I see a crack of lightening light up the sky quickly followed by a rolling clap of thunder. A shiver runs down my spine. I never was a big fan of thunderstorms.
Never seen this word before. My vocabulary isn’t as good as I think it is. Time’s running out. I could quickly check the meaning of ‘sill’ and write something more inteligible. I won’t though.
Sill? I don’t even know what that is. I know words that rhyme with it though haha. Sill Kill Shrill Steal Still Bill Fill I don’t know anymore ahhhh. What else is there to say? Oh man my time is almost up. What the sill!? Haha I should start using that!
Whose cat was perched on my windowsill? I tried to shoo it off, but it just sat still. I got a broom and shook it, but it didn’t bat an eye. It just stood on the sill with its head to the sky. I tried to bribe with a meal, but it wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t reach the sill to push it, not even a nudge. Despite my calls and clamoring, the cat just wouldn’t go. I guess I’ll have to learn to love it, ’til it jumps below.
I looked through the window and saw the rain. It didn’t phase me, I mean, this is Seattle after all. I reach down to the sill and hold his favorite toy. I love it, too. It matches us both. A lion. He loves the crinkle. I love the yellow. I also love what the lion represents. Strength.
she sat at the windowsill watching the rain fall down. it was cliche, she thought, to compare her tears to the rain. The rain seemed to pour out of the sky while the salt water on her face was finally drying up.
sill: our window sills are crammed with stuff, a young boy’s dream for bounty. He looks over to us first then dashes over to explore as much as he can before we can catch him.
She sat on the window sill, stretching precariously over her roof as she relished the morning sun. Mother hated when she did “dangerous” things such as sit over the roof, but she knew that she was stable and enjoyed the fresh air; besides, she did very little mother criticized.
With a content sigh she leaned her head on the frame and drew her feet up to the sill, looking over the fields and hills.
Curled up in the window sill, her body a silhouette against the frosted pane, I didn’t know if I’d ever seen anything more beautiful.
We cannot tell when we’re going to have accidents. They can happen anytime, anywhere. Even in our homes. We think that if we are in our homes, we are safe. No. Wrong. Here is one example.
My brother cried and cried. He got a cut. My mother went to his aid being two years old and wanted to go wherever and do and play anything.
“What happened? ” My mother asked.
” He cut it at the window sill.” I said.
“Window sill? Our window is broken?”. She said checking the window. She now knew we had to fix the window so nobody can get accidents. My brother stopped crying when my mom put bandaid on him.
a bird quietly sat chirping on the window sill looking inside the house with wooden furniture the window sill was a rainbow color of course no one knew what kind of bird it was that lived there they didn’t care they just looked at the sill with amazement and never looked away staring and soon the most sadess memory would come out from the back of their mind and kill the mind so they would soon drop dead the sill was amazing i am looking at it now what will i do if i cant look away i will die if i do look away i will for get the beatiful sill what an amazing sill where a bird would sit every morning and chirp and sing and peck at my eyes so how can i look away if i am dead
She didn’t mean to kill him. He just got in the way. Wrong place at the wrong time. A casualty of war, you might say. His head met the concrete window sill with the a crack three seconds after she pushed him out of her path. Red fluid soaked his own beige carpet. He had died on impact. His eyes, blown wide. Poor man probably had no idea what was going on. Shock, written all over his face.
She ran out of there as fast as she could. Just in time to slip the parcel she had been looking for into her purse.
A casualty of war.
sill lint cactus crumbs. daggers of paint, rips of wood. Little imaginary men running back and forth in the scream of white sunlight. cactuses one two three four. Under-watered, lacking in color. But there.
why do window have sills anyway? its just asking for something that shouldn’t go there to go there,. and windows don’t even need sills. there to small to hold a substantial amount of stuff so it always falls of. a window shelf would be useful, except they would jut out and you would always walk into them.
why do window have sills anyway? its just asking for something that shouldn’t go there to go there,. and windows don’t even need sills. there to small to hold a substantial amount of stuff so it always falls of .
like a window sill? thats funny cuz i dont even know what it means. i guess people are just stupud these days. i don’t think we’ll ever be able to get it back. but maybe we can.
I sat on the window sill and looked out at the dawn, the sun rising out of a blanket of mist just as you will rise out of the covers on the bed in a few hours, looking as delicate and bright as the morning sun and spreading your colours out into the world, filling me with the beauty of early morning all over again.
she was perched on the window sill, her eyes raised to the glowing moon in the silent night air. he knew he’d never have. but he would have to try.
The game ended, and no one noticed anything unusual in the result. Killen and the old man sat in the penthouse of the hotel, their drinks resting on the sill of the open window. The wheelchair was parked in the corner, unneeded now. They had just cleared twelve million dollars in one night, and those young men downstairs celebrating with Gatorade thought they were the only winners.
sill on the windowsill will the sill still be on the will still the still will windmill mill the sill as the silly shills out the millies wills out on the hillys hills out ferak out weak out with the sills out gotta rock out mock out whether you’ve got the hawk out hawk on the sill the sill is me the sill is I the hawk is I
She woke up in the hospital, cards on a table next to her that also
had some type of cola and a plastic vase of tulips. The last thing
she remembered was angrily telling her to tell her two year old to pick up his toys. Her husband came in and said “Good you’re awake! You hit your head pretty hard on that window sill!”
She woke up in the hospital, cards on a table next to her that also
had some type of cola and a plastic vase of tulips. The last thing
she remembered was angrily telling her to tell her two year old to pick up his toys. Her husband came in and said “Good you’re awake! You
She perched beside the window, sitting cross-legged on it’s wide, bench-like sill. The corners of her lips were tilted slightly down, her eyes narrowed. Her whole body seemed to lean into the small hardcover book she held in her hands, it’s bright white binding standing out sharply in front of the multi-hued curtains. The afternoon sun shone through the window in a narrow column, catching and holding one of her small hands. Dust motes danced slowly around it. Completely unaware of the world around her, she was strikingly beautiful, but brutally so. You might have thought her inanimate.
She put the glass down on the window sill. Leaning on it, she could see out the window. It was a beautiful day, almost like nothing at all had changed. But everything ha. In a heartbeat, her life was different. And so, when in a few years it would be her turn to pick her own wedding dress, her godmother wouldnt help her choose it, like it had happened with her older sister. She picked the glass back up. Why stop now?
narrow edges of light in the summer sun
prints on the frost, noses and whiskers
don’t close the curtains, let that sunshine in
I always wanted a window sill I could sit on. Pillows, sunlight, the works. I assumed it was what I’d have when I grew up. Funny thing is, I never did much growing up. I got older, sure, older and older, watching as my skin wrinkled, as my hair turned white. But, I never grew up.
On the sill it sat. Waiting. Looking for God. Waiting for God. Waiting for life to start. On the sill it sat. Looking at what life held for it. Wondering how long that life would be. If more life would start because of it. On the sill it sat. Looking for something to live for, to chase. Something to give it meaning.
The window sill was empty, but for a small vase with a tall, slender stem of a budding flower. Amy looked out the window at the kids lining up to come in from the playground. “Ugh,” she grunted.
Night after night i sit on the sill of my window staring out at the stars and clouds usually accompanied by rain, thinking of you and all the things I never had the time to say. Words still get caught in the back of my throat and images hide themselves within my mind in locked boxes draped in spider webs. Theres more to the scene but its too dark to be described for your safe thoughts to think. And somehow i know that you are on the top floor of the house you grew up in sitting on the sill of the open window leading out to the balcony wondering if im still somewhere thinking of you thinking of me. If you should ever come across this, just know i am and always will be. Though I can’t seem to make it back to that place we discovered last summer, you know, that place Time can never touch…
A sill is a window sill. It’s a place where the plants sit and there is lots of sunlight. Other plants like to live on the window sill where it is pretty and pretty things get on with the sill very well. Sills are silly. They are silly like silly bricks are silly. Wow, 60 seconds goes really fast!
1.
i spend my evening by the windowsill
once affectionate for the nights
i’m now ambivalent.
“Nothing much better than sitting in a cozy window seat with a cat that’s peering over the sill and making clucking noises at some unfettered creature out in the world,” said Malcolm, patting the cushion beside him.
“Sill.” She spoke the word softly to herself. She did not understand its meaning, nor did she know just how big an impact this word would have on her in less than twenty four hours. “Sill.” The word felt as unfamiliar on her
Flying through the wind, neither with it or against. Underneath it. The gravity #sill glides along unknown and not felt by reality, traversing webs of probability and dodging event after event until it settles into form within the other side of the wind. #oneword #oznolem
I threw down the brush attachment, kicked the vacuum cleaner clean across the room, and yanked the plug out of the wall. In the blessed silence I heard a sound like hail against the window pane. I turned, saw her there on the sill in a ridiculous outfit, dashing handfuls of sparkles at the glass and laughing like a lunatic. She yelled, “Let me in!” Hell if I was going to just wing my window open to a crazy foot tall fairy with a star on a stick. “What do you want?!” I yelled back. “Oh, sorry,” she yelled, “I thought you were the one screaming through tears for a better life. My mistake!” and she flew off.
I sat at the window sill, gazing out over the moor. It was rainy and clouded outside, but all I wanted to do was walk through the gardens and smell the roses. I just needed a little bit of escape from this stuffy house and insipid people.
she was standing on her sill waiting for som eone to tell her this wasn’t real. But no one came. She was alone again. Disappointed. Dead inside. Wondering if it was all worth it.Night was still, but the storm inside of her was raging. What to do now? She will run away again, there is nothing left to do, really.
on top of the window sill I spotted a small blue bird. I didn’t know where the bird had come from, or what it wanted. At 6 in the morning my fried brain barely noticed it at all.
It sat there looking listless. Try as she might, Lidia could never get the rose to brighten up. She regretted taking it from the garden. Each day she watched it wilt further and further. Soon the once vibrant, red petals began to curl and darken. She had thought setting it on the sill would make it come back, but to no avail.
It’s raining now. Hard. From where I sit on the window sill, I see a crack of lightening light up the sky quickly followed by a rolling clap of thunder. A shiver runs down my spine. I never was a big fan of thunderstorms.
Never seen this word before. My vocabulary isn’t as good as I think it is. Time’s running out. I could quickly check the meaning of ‘sill’ and write something more inteligible. I won’t though.
Sill? I don’t even know what that is. I know words that rhyme with it though haha. Sill Kill Shrill Steal Still Bill Fill I don’t know anymore ahhhh. What else is there to say? Oh man my time is almost up. What the sill!? Haha I should start using that!
Whose cat was perched on my windowsill? I tried to shoo it off, but it just sat still. I got a broom and shook it, but it didn’t bat an eye. It just stood on the sill with its head to the sky. I tried to bribe with a meal, but it wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t reach the sill to push it, not even a nudge. Despite my calls and clamoring, the cat just wouldn’t go. I guess I’ll have to learn to love it, ’til it jumps below.
I looked through the window and saw the rain. It didn’t phase me, I mean, this is Seattle after all. I reach down to the sill and hold his favorite toy. I love it, too. It matches us both. A lion. He loves the crinkle. I love the yellow. I also love what the lion represents. Strength.
she sat at the windowsill watching the rain fall down. it was cliche, she thought, to compare her tears to the rain. The rain seemed to pour out of the sky while the salt water on her face was finally drying up.
oh that window sill was so clean and angular with it’s crisp white edges and fresh coat of silky white paint. it was quite perfect if you ask me.
sill: our window sills are crammed with stuff, a young boy’s dream for bounty. He looks over to us first then dashes over to explore as much as he can before we can catch him.