writing

He was no Moses;

She found a baby in a basket on the river, but the baby was no Moses; he was quite the opposite. His skin had a bluish-grey tint to it, almost the same shade as the water he was floating in. But his hair, his beautiful golden-spun hair- it was nearly the same color as his wicker time-machine time-capsule saving-grace. Bless his small faintly beating heart, she sure wasn’t about to let the little spud out of her sight. Hastily tying a knot in the hem of her dress, she waded into the knee-deep water, cold as a January morning but not as cold as her heart was warm, so she plunged into that icy river. Further out she waded, until she could reach her arms out and touch…

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s