Hands That Tell Stories

I sat beside her watching her sleep, holding her hands in mine. Despite their age, her hands were beautiful, deft and wise: warm, strong, and steady hands for stirring vats of jam, for pouring milk into a cereal bowl, hands for putting on Band-Aids and braiding my hair. These were Mother’s hands. I sat beside her watching her sleep, holding her hands in mine. Despite their age, her hands were graceful, soft, slender, elegant, and scrupulously groomed: delicate hands for hand modeling, for designing and transforming fabric into fashionable clothes, hands for putting on airs and styling my hair. These were Grammy’s hands. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ hands--expressive things with personalities as intimate as faces lines etched upon skin map of a life fully lived hands that tell stories