Old hands, shaky, frail, tremulous. A book tattered and stained by the passing of the years. Just like an old tree trunk with many knots and carvings, old gnarled hands hold a special beauty. They tell a tale of struggles, hard work and sacrifices. Gone are the softness and luster replaced now by brittle, freckled skin, and I wonder... are these freckles pages of that tale? Do they represent yesteryear's sunny summer days? Were they caused while pottering round the garden too busy to remember to wear gloves?
Old hands once so useful now holding a flower. Both so fragile! Past and present together on the road to become the future... a memory...
When I grow older and my hands become shaky and frail, I truly hope that each and every freckle and scar would be there to show I did not mind doing things myself and I did not mind helping others. I want my hands to be an open book for all to see I lived my life to the fullest.
(This post is dedicated in loving memory to both, my father and grandmother. Their useful hands will always have a special place in my heart)
Photo by Bing Image