Hands

When I was little, I remember noticing the veins in my Nanny’s hands. I remember knowing how hard she worked with those hands. How gentle she loved. How strong and tender and experienced they were. I noticed the same thing about my mom as she washed dishes one evening and the sun shined on mountains of veins. It’s a beautiful thing, turning all the gears in your life. I like my veiny hands.
Hands