Struck by the hand

This morning I woke up and looked across our room at Lizzie.  Her hand was hanging down off the bed between the metal rails.  Against the white linens her skin was whiter and her hands appeared so soft surrounded by the billowy pillows.  Her finger nails painted red elongated her fingers ever so elegantly.    My eyes were struck by how vulnerable her hands were as she slept peacefully in our room.   I used to  admire her hands some 23 years ago when she was first born.  She’d be awake long into the night and I couldn’t stop admiring her perfectly formed hands imagining what she’d be.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s