Sunday, 27 April 2008


‘You have beautiful hands, Miss.’ He tells me. I laugh self-consciously – I’ve been waving them around again. Someone once told me I’d be struck dumb if forced to sit on my hands, but yes, they are fine hands; long, shapely fingers, long, slim nails, and whenever I look at them, I remember where they came from; I have my mother’s hands. As a small child, I well remember those hands, how I marveled at their beauty, at the delicate cords that ran along their backs, at the long, rounded nails, and at the wide, flat wedding band that graced her ring finger. For a long time, this similitude saddened me - a painful reminder of her absence. Now we are reconciled, it fills me with gratitude and with pride; I have my mother’s hands. And they are beautiful.


Gucci Muse said...

Wonderful description of your hands.

Mine are petite upon small wrists. I am surprised they are smooth as they are due to all the "abuse" I put them through.

Mercurious said...

This is a beautiful series of entries. I love this genre, probably because I'm incapable of such precision and restraint.

Have you ever painted a short story or novella using this technique? Would be an interesting exercise, I think.

Glamourpuss said...

Thank you. I haven't considered it, but shall. Have you read Silk by Alessandro Baricco? It's probably the nearest I've read.


Pawlie Kokonuts said...

These miniatures fit their small frames perfectly. You reminded me how in church once my son played with the veiny surface ripples on my skinny hands, tracing their raised pathways, as if he were blind. I loved it. I let him. I remember that. Has he forgotten?

August said...

I remember your hands well. They are indeed lovely -- long and delicate. No one would ever guess how firmly they handle a pole.

I'm going to the bookshop to see if I can find Silk.