Go. . .
Hands . . .
Uncensored tenderness in every touch . . .
It's my world. It's what I see. What I touch. What I feel not only through touch but in my soul.
To look down as this tiny creature holds my finger. Their sweetness. It turns my world into tenderness.
I loose count how many hands I hold. There's the wandering
3 year old. There's the 2 year old. And then theirs the babies.
And these old hands. That reach out to grab a toddler as it tumbles.
A baby that rolls into unsafe territory.
These old hands that get so dry in the winter from the constant washing.
They are made young. It's good. It's sweetness.
Linking with Lisa Jo. Click Here