Another piece from Write Your Life, taught by writing coach Nomi Isak.
From dust we are born, to dust we return.
The cracked earth reflected in hands that have touched a lifetime.
My hands have held life:
plucked a fresh flower
picked grapes from the vine
cradled a newborn
held fast to a toddler as he ran for the street
touched the face of my lover
My hand have held death:
a leaf on the ground
the dog of my childhood
my mother, now gone
I am a traveler on this planet. Without having every left home I have traversed the universe. Around and around the sun, from my little corner of the globe. I have stories to share, wisdom to impart. Time is short. Not because I’m old, but because it is. My hands have held life. My hands have held death. And these I now hand to you, for my hands cannot hold the future.