Last week as I was waiting my turn in the chiropractor’s
office, a woman cane and sat down across from me. She was of moderate height and weight and
obviously an older woman; dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt with another as a
jacket, athletic shoes on her feet. Her
skin was clear, almost translucent and she wore plain wire framed glasses. Her white hair was shoulder length and pulled
back into a pony tail. There was an
amazing peacefulness and calm about her.
What I noticed most was her hands.
They were relaxed and folded in her lap.
The skin on them was youthful looking, clear, and had no age marks or
ripples of age. Her fingers were long
and beautiful and there was a simple, much worn, thin, gold band on her ring
finger. They appeared so delicate, yet I
could imagine a great strength also. But now, they were just resting gently in
her lap. I tried not to stare but I
found those hands captivating. I could
not help but wonder about her life, her story.
I could see her sitting strong in the saddle holding the
reins in those hands; opening and closing gates, lovingly attending to a baby
and children. I could them tending food
in the garden and in the kitchen; planting, weeding, picking and canning. Do those hands knit, crochet or quilt? Do
they lovingly stroke pets? Have they
comforted and loved a partner offering solace and support: Have they artfully arranged hair, applied
makeup, held a tea cup, or does she prefer coffee? Have those hands been instruments of
exploration, tenderness, caring and hope?
What stories those beautiful hands might tell I don’t know, but
they truly spoke to me.
