The Hands of a knitter.
These Hands also Happen to be the Hands of a mother, a daughter, a Healer.
And a cat owner, evidently. (Or perhaps that should be a cat’s pet.)
Last year, not long after this photograph was taken, one of these knuckles was laid open nearly to the bone, which required over two months of Healing in the end. And drastically curtailed knitting, not to say work, for some time. Driving Home to me the importance of Hands. (Fortunately, all is well now, though a little less pretty. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.)
But even more important to me than my own Hands — are the Hands I’ve Held.
It seems like a long time since they were that small. But I’ll never forget the feeling of those warm, tiny Hands in mine.
Now those same Hands are busy playing piano and guitar and French Horn, drawing and painting, spiking a volleyball, writing essays, typing almost as fast as me on the computer keyboard, often glued to a telephone, holding a barre, occasionally doing Jazz Hands, even (sigh) putting on makeup (sometimes illicitly) — and sometimes these Hands are crocheting and knitting too. And so we go round and round in the Circle Game; “captive on the carousel of time”. Someday, these Hands may hold tiny Hands too.
H is for Hands.