Hands
Earned their keep
These hands of mine
The following is the story of my 60 mile bike ride where I focused on what my aging body can do, instead of what it can’t. Moose Lake State Park I sat down at our Moose Lake campsite after biking 32.8 miles from Hinckley to Moose Lake State Park. My knees and hips had begun…
In my previous “A Day of Running” post, I showed a book called “Expressive Photography” which is by the Shutter Sisters. It’s a guide to “shooting from the heart”. It contains the inspiration I’m seeking for capturing the type of photos I’d like to take. In the introduction, Tracey Clark, founder of Shutter Sisters, wrote:…
I’ve been trying to remember what it was like to be a kid — to remember what I played at and imagined and loved. I want to see if the things I started out loving provide clues to how to bring those playful feelings (free, light, uninhibited, unworried about outcome, adaptable, unrestricted) back into my way too serious life.
Another Fresh Start The floors are rid of dog hair and dirt Walking barefoot is disgust-free An oily, aromatic glow rises up From my dining room table Dishes washed and put away Crumb-less counters Paperwork completed and stacked Filing could happen Miracles are in the air I turn as if ritualizing the room Facing the…
A dragonfly’s wings are transparent glittery things that always make me think of fairies… First LoveDo not give up your first love for it is forever in your heart in your mind The thing that got you through all things You could not stop even if you tried Who you are What you are Whatever your eye…
Thursday and Friday, I did my first bike-train commutes of 2015. It was rough start, because, for one thing, I lost my Metro Go Card.
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Fantastic! These hands have earned their keep? I love that! And your photographs are stunning – as are your hands! I often think that way about my body in general – you know, that it’s earned its keep – but specifically hands? What a lovely meditation. I loved, loved, loved this and will look at my age spotted, somewhat scarred, crepe paper textured skin hands more lovingly and appreciatively after reading this.
Your hands, poem, and photos, are beautiful. (but I do know the feeling of looking at my own hands and thinking “who’s are these?”)
Lynn