With these hands…

  • I build sand castles
  • Write every day
  • Kneed dough
  • Paint scenes on the blank page
  • Embrace loved ones
  • Tap out thoughts onto the pages of my journal
  • Scribe letters of passion to lost loves, real and imagined
  • Slice onions and carrots
  • Run the lined fingers through my tangled locks
  • Entwined and stretched overhead, they reach toward the heavens
  • Clench when I'm frustrated
  • Hold the groceries
  • Cup the cheeks of my children and promise the sun will shine again
  • Count coins
  • Pull books off the shelf
  • Turn the page
  • Hover over the keyboard in anticipation of inspiration
  • Scrub the tub
  • Fold the warm clothes fresh from the dryer
  • Point
  • Flail about in daily conversations
  • Tie my sneakers


For all they do I am grateful. These hands are in harmony with my desire to live a creative life. They answer my beck and call, transcribe the nonsense turning round and around inside my head, wait patiently for the thoughts to connect, thumb through the pages of the thesaurus, tap impatiently on the battered oak table in a trendy coffee house, flip the pages of a new novel, highlight favorite passages, move the cursor over the Submit button and click, fill the kettle, pull the cork, dab my wear cheeks with a tissue, and smooth the crumpled pages pulled from thrash bin.

They are strong and soft, tender when needed. What the lines on their weathered surface mean or where they lead is uncovered with each passing breath. It's a welcome journey.

Where do the lines of your hands lead you?

 I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words #6