Like a random thought, Little Moses was cast adrift on the Phlebitis River, cribbed in a reed basket. Upstream, at the edge of the palace, the Pharoah's daughter, Helsinki, noticed the leavening-bread-shaped baby bobbing among the rushes. "Don't eat him," warned her servants. Helsinki had him swaddled in Egyptian cotton before she ventured in to the kitchen. Like a yeast infection, Helsinki had a baker's addiction. The sight of the doughy baby had spurred her urge to bake bread. For the next 15 years, she filled the palace - and the boy's stomach - with an ongoing product line of loaves, sticks and tarts. Like a stretched bread crust, the spreading Moses could consume no more. On his 16th birthday, he left the palace with his flock of sheep (a gift from the Pharoah) and roamed Pyramid Valley in search of a burning bush.
© BILL BLAIR 2012