Hands
I remember the night our first child was born, and how her hand wasn’t big enough to wrap around my finger. I remember watching my wife’s hand in its weightless caress, communicating with this new life. I remember, too, being patted on the head for my youthful idealism, which I have since learned is an acute form of common sense. Hands Imagine a world where faces and voices are […]
William Michaelian 