Literature
The Hands That Shape Our World
I remember her hands the most.
There on that day, under the harsh glow of the hospital lights, her hands had been so small and frail in mine that I almost couldn't recognise them.
Those hands used to pick me up when I fell, brush me off and put a salve to all my grievous boyhood wounds. I watched those same hands stop a wild charging animal, radiating courage and power while my father and I hid in the car. Those hands held others, gripping tight as teardrops stained them or shook with fright. No person was ever left on their own around her. If they were in need of help or friendship, those hands would descend to upli