Hands
Earned their keep
These hands of mine
I cannot know what this time, this circumstance, a loss, a gain is going to mean to the entirety of my life. Why do I waste so much time resisting my circumstances instead of looking with eyes that see neither negative or positive but just go ahead and live each moment as though it is…
I hang from a thread Entwined in a web Swinging left to right Reverse again and again Dark to light And light to dark Back and forth Up and down Settling, settling Around and around Hang in the air It will be found You know it’s true As truth can be Root to root And…
Still on the mend – coughing a lot, sleeping little, and totally out of gas. Speaking of gas, how about those prices? And if you need diesel (for the truck) and Premium (for the Mini), it’s really a killer. My raise this year is definitely not going to keep up with increases in gas, coffee…
“This way!” she said. “Follow the lights!” There is a magic forest Ruled by a very wise tree (okay, he’s actually checking out some chick passing by, it was Vegas after all) You’ll pass under a sea of colorful jelly fish And you will find a palace…
“You used to be much more…’muchier.’ You’ve lost your muchness.” — Mad Hatter to Alice in Alice in Wonderland I watched Alice in Wonderland and it got me wondering where my muchness went. This leads to grabbing for straws. Maybe get another dog to fill the house with more of something. More life. Helping out a critter….
I am reading The Gift of Years: Growing Older Gracefully by Joan Chittister, a book about “becoming” after retirement. Much of what I’ve read so far is about the freedom that comes from being outside the corporate world, where image matters so much. But I’m still in that world…
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Fantastic! These hands have earned their keep? I love that! And your photographs are stunning – as are your hands! I often think that way about my body in general – you know, that it’s earned its keep – but specifically hands? What a lovely meditation. I loved, loved, loved this and will look at my age spotted, somewhat scarred, crepe paper textured skin hands more lovingly and appreciatively after reading this.
Your hands, poem, and photos, are beautiful. (but I do know the feeling of looking at my own hands and thinking “who’s are these?”)
Lynn