{The little boy who grew wings}

In the distant land of not quite here a boy awoke with streaming tears and cried to see the other side of Mount Betweena's snowy slide.
He slept at night, at least he tried. He dimmed the lights and closed his eyes, but always from the great outside, Betweena's peak held untold trials.
The sun came up on him one day and smiled light into his face and as he rose his body ached and burst around he turned and faced his mirror he saw had replaced his arms with wings of gold and lace.
From his room he sprinted fast, to cross the peak for once at last, all his dreams would be surpassed and soon the mountain would be passed.
He climbed the path, became a hill, became a slope, but higher still Betweena's tip expressed its will, to not be crossed by dreams fulfilled. 
He passed the places he had passed on every day that had come before and reached the cliff where he stopped before and spread his wings out ready to soar into the distance, future, and lore!
But as he stooped, preparing to leap, he looked out, down, beyond past the peak, the beyond to him looked  suddenly bleak and no longer did he desire to reach. 
The blizzard came fast, it came from the east, the first thing it froze was the boy and his feet, solidified ice still stuck on the peak, the golden winged boy still ready to leap.

Not in the distance lay honey and milk, wrapped in silver, placed on platters, and covered with silk.
Often to honey would milk go and say, "This silver existence is awfully lame! I want to be covered by gold covered lace! Put an end to all of this dreary gray haze."
To which, each time honey would say "Honey just wait, tomorrow's the day. From over the mountains, we shall be saved."

But back on the mountains our hero, unstuck, unfrozen, unable, to blame it on luck, slowly begins, his wings to retuck and return to the village, down in the mud. 

This is the end, for now, of Part 1

TWENTY-THREE JUNE TWO-THOUSAND-NINE