Fifty-years-ago today, born to a Mrs. Linda Moore. The search for my birth mother ended here. A baby boy, her unexpected bundle of joy, she said. Right away, I noticed the surfing trophies showcased in a line just like mine. Our crooked noses left no doubt.
Working up the nerve, strolling along the raw, rocky coastline in my best suit and overcoat. I watch as the smoke rings from my breath float upward, again and again. Finally, I turn toward the small seaside town, flipping my dress shoes off when I hit the cool sand.
Fifty-years-ago today, born to a Mrs. Linda Moore. The search for my birth mother ended here. A baby boy, her unexpected bundle of joy, she said. Right away, I noticed the surfing trophies showcased in a line just like mine. Our crooked noses left no doubt.
Fliss Zakaszewska
5/11/2018 11:57:10 am
Lovey tale, beautifully told. Loved the 'crooked noses'!
Lisa Miller
10/11/2018 10:43:28 pm
Thank you so much, Fliss! Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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