A doe came out of the woods today, darting through the shadows, slender and sylvan. Light form the sun and shade from the trees blanketed her. large brown eyes—huge brown eyes—shone out of an inquisitive face. Who was I? what was I doing here? One ear turned towards me, the other harkened back to the forest. Out in the center of the hill, she stopped. She looked. She wiggled her nose and wondered. Then she ran, little hooves connected to smaller ankles, her steps drumming the ground. For a moment she disappeared into the woods. But then she came back, and stood in the safety of a tree’s shade. And we looked at each other, the doe and me.
Naomi Jackson began writing novels at the age of eleven, but only recently began her career as a freelance author and passionate storyteller. When she is not reading or writing, you can find Naomi tending to her houseplants, taking a long walk, or volunteering at her home church. She lives with her family in southern Florida.