Falling

Snowman wakes before dawn. Waving through the hazy bliss of a snowy morning. The early morning songs and giggles dance their way through from the opposite room. Whispers are heard without effort, and enjoyed as sleep is straightened out and left until tonight. Behind the doors she can already hear the anticipation in their minds for Mummy’s awakening. The handle descends and as the voices should crescendo. . . Silence. The quiet hits her head. And softens downwards into her brain and through her body. She strokes her head, moving hard over the bumps that surround her entirety.