Hands

Hands

Soft, strong, beautiful both manicured and not.
Hands that send reassuring warmth that life can go from complicated to organized to unique and creative and perhaps back to unorganized.

They are the assistants of a mighty super hero. They take a blank canvas and give it a shining, new life and breath of color. They take a dark, deserted house and replenish it. They work so that others may be happy; they embrace so that others may be cured.

The chaos and fear of high school though frustrating and complex is like a sunny beach off the coast of the Bahamas. As the sun goes down and the water curls around my feet, there is something relaxing and peaceful and rewarding in the air as a result of a long trek through the jungle to get to the sand, while still holding her hand.

Staring off to the far reach of the ocean and wondering if I’ll ever make it that far, I turn to her and ask, “ how have you been able to keep your hands from getting scratched up and chapped and weak throughout the years?”

She turned to me blinking several times to keep her eyes from drying up in the wind and laughed, “ I put lotion on them. You should try it sometime.”