chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

my mother’s hands…

my mother's handsHer hands were cool and slender, with narrow fingertips, tapered nails, and knuckles that were slightly enlarged. The skin on the back of her hands was freckled, and then spotted with age, and always delicate. It covered a tender architecture of fine bones, and snaking blue veins that seemed to have been added as an afterthought, on the surface instead of within. As a child, the barest pressure of my finger on one of those veins would cause it to slither left or right beneath her skin — a sort of mystery, magic, that never failed to fascinate me.

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