A Woman's Hands

The Mother of my Mother...

The Artist

The Purveyor of the Printed Page (and Runner with the Wolves)

The Coffee Maven and the Thrift Store Secret Keeper


The Poet in Her own Right


Me...the Morning Writer

The Fledgling Photographer, who Keeps a Mojito Day Job

I've noticed from scrolling through some of my old photographs that hands--particularly those of my friends--continue to turn up as a recurring motif in my work. These are the hands that have held babies, books, pens, brushes, and baubles. These hands that have hugged necks, cleaned scraped-up knees, wiped away tears (both their own and everyone else's), braided tangly hair, picked blackberries in the brambles, and held out offerings of margaritas, coffee, and, yes, the hands themselves as a comfort, a salve to every day misgivings. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world? Indeed.