tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6642076166796902853.post1629197429173480608..comments2024-02-05T01:49:05.302-05:00Comments on Creative Bloomings' Flashy Fiction Friday: Who Needs Speed?Walt Wojtanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02723314300320671675noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6642076166796902853.post-91428659762373426232012-04-25T13:49:03.597-04:002012-04-25T13:49:03.597-04:00The Bridge
I’m late. I always seem to be running ...The Bridge<br /><br />I’m late. I always seem to be running late. Through here and across the footbridge. I can still make it.<br /><br />“No! Please not now.”<br /><br />Landing in the mud is never a good sign. Did I hurt anything? No, just scraps. Good. Oh, crap. What about my pants? Just mud, no tears. Whew, that was close.<br /><br />Looking up, my gaze falls into a deep golden pool of wide-spaced cat’s eyes, gazing back at me from a face not belonging to a feline of any persuasion. High-pricked ears swiveled toward me, the mouth opened; not to threaten but to warn. Teetering on wobbly legs, less than a foot from my hand was the kit.<br /><br />Small, defenseless, wet; it mewed almost as my sister’s kitten. So sweet did it look, trying to find its mother. Momma fox watched me watching her progeny. Would I ever again see something so unique, so unguarded?<br /><br />Breathing shallow, forgetting time, I can only marvel and drink in what life is really about.Claudette Younghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01323759000341863947noreply@blogger.com