Hands I love to sit and watch wrists like stumps of trees with knotty, rooty fingers bent and formed from forming a hundred-thousand bread doughs rolling an infinity of perfect-thin sugar cookies cut into shapes of lambs of bells of holly leaves Hands forever cupped by a lifetime of dipping out a cup of drink for man and creature kind pouring herself out through fingers long worn smooth by Rosary beads "Cold hands but a warm heart" - she says holding on to mine she ask if I am from Alaska. "No but on my back I'll take you there" and a "lumpie" I am named while her hand kneads and forms my own like a fresh batch of dough and I can feel her Heart carried in her palm
about the hands of my 94 year old Bavarian friend. RIP Oct 8, 2019