Morning broke, stalactites of Ice were everywhere, a crystal balance, a lonely doe her ears perked against the soft blowing wind, enchanted she moved near.
A few pieces of cookie I tossed out my window, a crumb on the seal I remained still. My mother was making my bed half a glass of milk spilled on my nightstand.
A smile, gentle hand she ran the old comb through my hair neither of us spoke her eyes over my shoulder following my glance, the doe looked up just I raised my hand.
Another cookie, a second chance, it floated through the air catching a breeze what a magical dance the spilled milk now gone from the nightstand.
Oatmeal raisin and just the right mixture of snow we both watched our doe nibble away kicking her hind leg in the air she looked up ran away.
The old comb put away a soft kiss upon my smiling face closing the window, “its breakfast time Emily Grace, come down stairs I'll fix you a plate”.
Morning broke; stalactites of Ice were everywhere, a crystal balance, to welcome the day.