I love HANDS. Why? Because everyone’s hands tell a story. They’re so personal.
I know a girl who started crying when thinking about her late grandmothers hands. They bring back vivid memories.
… Memories that you can almost physically touch.
My Grandad’s are big, old, strong and veiny from all the years spent (and still at the mighty age of 90) farming.
I love the permanent black stain on his forefinger from prodding the tobacco into his pipe!
Who has your favourite hand(s)?