Sometimes the best thing in the world is a camera.
One afternoon, Mama and I were in our backyard. It was a day like any other: the sun was shining, the wind was gently blowing, and the mood was tranquil. I had my camera in hand and started to casually take a few shots. I can't resist, ever, seriously, ever. I saw some of these blooms on the ground and scooped them up to put in Mama's hands. Hands are so very personal. They're with you your entire life, ever changing, telling your life story. The hands of a surgeon probably look different from the hands of a mechanic, I suppose. The pricked fingers of a seamstress might differ from the hands of a hot panholding baker, assuming panholding is a word.
Just think of the journey our hands have traveled. I am reminded of the multiple times I smashed my fingers in our backdoor as a child. The pages turned, the splinters received, the jewelry worn, the polish applied, the porkchops fried, the sweet tea poured, the babies held, the waves goodbye.
Mama is no longer here with us, but I am eternally grateful for her and this photo of her hands. I have many memories of that day in our backyard, but I don't know if I would remember them as completely if I didn't have this photo. Sometimes the best thing in the world is a camera.
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