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| My Father�s Hands I remember so much. But his hands� Those hands were striking. Uncharacteristically broad and powerful for a man of his diminutive stature. Gnarled. Weathered. Callused by thousands of hours of hard labor. Scarred from accidents long forgotten. Permanently bronzed by summers� suns. A tiny band of gold adorned one finger; worn wire-thin from years of toil. Strong hands, yet they bore the ultimate testament to his tenderness. Everything handled by them was handled with care. Not hands that destroyed; hands that created. Not hands that tore down; hands that built. Not hands that harmed; hands that helped to heal. Not hands that concealed, but hands that reached out. Like his heart. To touch. With the softness of an angel�s kiss. LilGray |
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