folding and marking with time

I have always had a long lasting infatuation with hands. After the eyes I always look at a person's hands. They say so much about them. As they have said that the eyes are the gatway to your soul, your hands are the storytellers of your life. They tell you where you have been, what you have done, and in some beliefs where you are headed. They also tell you what type of person you are, your habits, your personality, your faults, your strengths. I for one am a person that likes to keep my hands hidden under a table, or in my pocket. I am a shy person after all.

I also loved wrinkled hands. it is as if each wrinkle is a forgotten journey into that persons life. Something has left a mark on them for their lifetime, and it is right there staring at me, wanting to tell me its tale.

I remember staring at my son's newborn hands. They were full of wrinkles. I imagined each line was a road he would take in his life. Maybe one would be the road he would take to meet his love. Another might be the road to his house, a familiar well travelled road, thus a deep wrinkle.

I have always liked looking at my mother's hands. They always seemed so delicate, graceful, and they are. Her hands make beautiful paintings, miniatures.

Or my grandma's Betty's hands, which were chubbier smaller hands with flexible fingers, ready to hold any book with one hand, as she held on to the wooden armrest of her her faded red rocker with the other. For some reason I always liked her left thumb the best...It seemed so independent, so bold with its perfectly manicured nail pointing towards the heavens. I miss her, and her hands...

What do your hands say about you?

By the way the image is of my latest conquest. Hands drawn on dark blue cardboard, which will be hand embroidered. The story is as follows:
 She held on tightly to the book that had saved her so many times before.
She caressed the worn leather in the familiar spots.
It felt soothing, comforting.
And as she exhaled an "Amen"
She joined the Everlasting.
Wooni