My grandfather’s hands were sun-kissed brown, holding unto the quality of both age and youth. The flesh of his hands, chubby and smooth mismatched with wrinkles brought on by the sun and old age. His hands always moved so slowly, we always wondered how they accomplished so much. He would leave for the place we lovingly called the
Hands
Hands
Hands
My grandfather’s hands were sun-kissed brown, holding unto the quality of both age and youth. The flesh of his hands, chubby and smooth mismatched with wrinkles brought on by the sun and old age. His hands always moved so slowly, we always wondered how they accomplished so much. He would leave for the place we lovingly called the