Hands
Earned their keep
These hands of mine
Plans I had a blog post drafted up four weeks ago about my upcoming retirement. Instead, I am publishing this blog post — the first thing I’ve written since I fractured my shoulder on October 25. November was supposed to be my “Month of the Writer!” — a kickstarter to retirement life, where I will…
Rejoice Whatever remembrance These days bring Resurrection Freedom Rebirth New life I have found Peace and smiles In giving thanks For blessings And struggles That come in waves gentle and wild Neither labeling good or bad Simply Interesting
My birth Mom turned 85 last Saturday. There was supposed to be a special birthday party with all her children that could make it there (four out of six of us) and her grandchildren. But Mom cancelled the party a couple days beforehand. It’s really too bad because she hasn’t felt well and she’s been…
It was one of those weekends where everything I wrote sounded like drivel. So I’m doing the wise thing and going pictorial…
When life (or retirement) doesn’t go as planned, I have found that you can mope away your life or you can make adjustments. That doesn’t mean you have to go all Pollyannish. There is nothing wrong with taking the time you need to grieve. But even when you are grieving, I have found that it…
A dragonfly’s wings are transparent glittery things that always make me think of fairies… First LoveDo not give up your first love for it is forever in your heart in your mind The thing that got you through all things You could not stop even if you tried Who you are What you are Whatever your eye…
Comments are closed.
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