As I look at your hands, I think of my father.
Oh, you are not my father, nor am I seeking my father
But your hands are a picture, just as were his,
an art gallery in the making!
They are a picture of your soul.......
Look at your hands, hold them out in front of you
Turn each one over slowly, in turn.
What are you remembering - as you look at them?
What page in your book of life is open for you to read?
Like our hearts, they carry the scars of errors made.
Like our hearts, they have healed.
Can you remember your hands when you were learning to finger paint?
Do you recall the wavy design the side of your hand created ?
Did you allow your hands to act as your eyes as you explored your child world?
Did you allow them to turn over the rocks along the creek bank?
What of frogs and toads, slugs and earthworms?
Our hands are not only pictures into our souls
They are connections from our souls to the souls of others......
As a newborn's entire hand wraps around your index finger...
As a best school friend reaches across the distance and grasps your hand with theirs......
The tender brushing away of a tear - on any face - even yours!
An impassioned hand clasping greeting from a long absent friend.....
The erotic holding of the face of your intended love - both hands, both sides...
Eyes riveted - and the emotions running so deep that the eyes overflow.......
Hands that create music, and cakes, and portraits, and horse shoes
Hands that mend fences, and seams, and gutters and broken hearts......
Yes - your hands - a picture - a thread - a connection.
To love you is to love all of you, especially to love your hands.
Vicki January 2001
