Hands
Earned their keep
These hands of mine
“There are times in your life where all you can do at the end of the day is turn out the lights, flop on the bed, and throw in the towel… The very act of giving up becomes a starting point. You clear your head. You still your beating heart. You navigate the rocky shoals,…
Canvas Stark white Untouched My horse looks dubious Perhaps there’s a reason This place lies untraveled Powder over ice? Frozen ridges to trip on? Who’s to know? He isn’t the one Who wants to find out But I ask And he moves Does he trust my judgment? While I do not? So far so good…
Last week, I made a list of things that I’m not moving forward on because of the fear that I’m no longer capable of doing them or because I’m afraid of getting hurt. One of those things is taking a post retirement bike trip. But before I get into that, let me tell you about…
I bet that title got your attention. I was just thinking that in my dream job, I would get to use my imagination and creativity to come up with ideas and collaborate with a team to go from ideas to action and finally, to mind-blowing, curtain-opening… something! Something would be published, displayed in a gallery,…
Solo Trail Ride Squeeking of leather Calling of birds Riding in the woods It’s too purty for words. Just me and my horse Ambling along. It’s such a wonderful feeling Wanna break out in song. I found a melody In the beating of hooves As my troubles drift off And over tree roofs. – Mary…
Give Me a Break Exhaustion Drips off me Puddling Onto the floor Another mess To clean up This is not a literal poem as you might be thinking. There have been no puppy accidents for at least two days. She’s getting much better at not peeing in the house and she hasn’t pooped in the…
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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