A Bird In the Henna-ed Hand
What I hold in my hand is precious and temporary. It begins to disappear before I can truly grasp it. The henna tattoo, painted on my palm by my daughter when she filled up her palms, feet and belly and needed more blank space, has already faded away. The baby chick, beginning to look like a gawky teenager but most definitely behaving like a precocious toddler, flies from my hand as soon as it reaches a safe distance from the ground. The safe distance gets farther every day.
What I hold in my hand is all I know for certain, and what I know for certain doesn't last long before it's replaced by a new certainty. My hands are always full. Full of birds, children, dirt, dishes, fabric, yarn, paper, scissors, laundry, books, flowers, food, keys, cards. My hands are full of my life.
One certainty I desperately attempt to maintain grasp of is this - what I hold in my hands is worth far more than whatever exists anywhere else. You can keep your two in a bush, all I need is this one bird.
Posted by Molly at 6:44 PM