Aged hands — every wrinkle, callous, and scar — imply a story. The hands in this picture were once young, smooth and strong. Now they clasp each other like lifelong friends, sharing secrets with each other only known by them.

What have these hands done over a lifetime? What kind of labor did they perform? What kind of skills did they learn? Did they caress a lover’s cheek or embrace a child? Did they lash out in violence or fear? Did they bring a healing salve? Did they sculpt joy or peace? After a lifetime, do they fill their owner with a mixture of contentment and regret? What legacy have they left upon this world?

Then I look at my own hands and contemplate all they have done, many times with such little thought. For as my hands, so is my heart. And I cringe. I cry. I repent. I laugh. I smile.

This photo taken with a Canon PowerShot A620 in Chinatown in Los Angeles, CA.


  1. Been perusing through your pictures. They, along with your way with words, capture the poignant meaning of life.
    I’m glad you are sharing your giftedness… and glad I am experiencing it this way.
    Thanks. Mb

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