Hands of Life

Today I bring forth a visual imagery story, centering around a single image. This one, in particular, tells the story of a girl, her banjo, and loyal dog. As a note for those who are wondering, I am still collecting the images for my Nature Photography Part 2, so that should not be much longer. I hope you enjoy this micro essay today:

Hands of Life

Leaning over the beautiful, worn, fence crafted with gentle, loving hands, I watch the young child play. With brilliant eyes of metallic green beetles light up, the child’s hands stroke the banjo too big for her minute form. As the dazzling rays of sunlight sparkle down on her small, chubby fingers, I feel the warmth of happiness and refreshing spring breeze blowing down the curvature of my spine. I wrap my summer-ripe raspberry red, Irish wool shawl closer to my chest, protection against nothing in particular, leaning now against an ancient, loving weeping willow. With bare feet touching the unspoiled earth, I reach along the young blackberry bushes, plucking a ripe piece with a smile. Within every note resonating through the otherwise quiet air, the meadow seems to come alive with beauty. Unknowingly, my hands run the carved fencing, along ringlets and caves of wood, easing my mind further. A loyal dog sits proudly next to his girl, tongue dripping saliva from the clear water sparkling over to their left.


In it all, I can almost taste the mountain-fresh pool of liquid against my dry, pink lips, satisfying my thirst. In all my distracted mind to the beauty, senses explode at the scent of birch and oak surrounding the duo, river blue songbirds and petite feathery rabbits, earthworms, and the occasional explorational fawn attending the secret show. The little girl with warm, cinnamon red hair gives a sweet laugh, wrapping her arms around the dog, breathing in the scent of earth from his deep fur. The wet-nosed, chestnut-furred friend gives a small sound of satisfaction, joining his girl with a wagging tail. The fingers that only seconds before were strumming life, grab fistfuls of contrasting colors of fur, smiling endlessly. It is not until this point do I realize the child has only one dangling leg, and yet her joy is beyond imaginable. As the oblivious, youthful Irish girl returns to her oversized banjo, holding it dearly like a newborn baby, the world comes alive once again. A speckled fawn steps politely through the brush as to not disturb the beautiful sound, nibbling on a golden apple beckoning from a tree over the fence. As I gather my senses once more, Irish earth beneath my feet and the sounds of music and laughter fading, I smile, knowing that even a small child can find beauty in who they are.



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