Witch and baby

The moonlight like sweet-scented osmanthus sprinkled on the hut.

The witch stepped gently into the window sill and bent to pick up the baby in the cradle. The corners of the mouths of the parents who were sleeping on the side were slightly raised.

The witch drove the night breeze back to the mountain cabin. She dropped the baby into the huge rocking chair, and the baby could also find his dreamland in the unfamiliar arms. With a flick of her hand and her leg, her sleeves and skirt stretched out, and the violet robe streamed from the curved rocking chair to the ground. The wonderful robe contained food toys such as small harp, bamboo dragonflies, fruit baskets, snack plates and so on.

At this time, the baby slowly opened his eyes, and the starry sky was in his eyes, and a hazel face with deep lines was reflected in the starry sky, and his deep blue eyes were as serene as the sea. The baby began to shake his little hand and touched the witch’s face up high-“He doesn’t understand the secret of every face, and he is willing to believe and get close to it first.” The witch thought with relief. The baby climbed to the witch’s hem with the delicious skirt. The witch stretched out the hand he asked for. He tightly guarded the omelet he had just grabbed and shook his head. But after a while, he grabbed another strawberry and put it on the witch. In the palm of the hand—”He can honestly express himself to anyone, whether he wants to begrudge or give.” The witch thought happily. The baby climbed up to the witch’s playful sleeve again, picked up the harp and flicked a few broken notes, while his mouth was still singing along with it; he picked up the bamboo dragonfly and threw it up, and fell to the ground without turning it in a circle. But he popped up his small palms—”Every little action is cute to him, and has nothing to do with success or failure.” The witch thought with satisfaction. Then, the witch took books and milk bottles from the robe, and asked the baby to drink milk while listening to her telling stories about witches. They also exchanged many dear kisses and hugs-“Only he can talk to an old witch. Play, and he is not surprised by it.” The witch thought happily.

The moonlight like sweet-scented osmanthus still sprinkled on the hut.

The witch stepped gently into the window sill, bent over and put the baby in the cradle. The corners of the mouths of the parents who were sleeping on the side were still slightly hooked.

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