Six Word Fridays: Hand

I settled easily into his familiar

arms. My little girl hands - eager

to find their way into his -

knew every wrinkle, knuckle and spot.

As he gently lifted my tiny

fingers to clip each tiny nail,

he told stories. Told me about

my daddy and his boyhood dog.

Told my about his shop and

told me about baseball. As I

grew, there was less telling, more 

asking. I got to tell my

stories. Every visit, as long as 

he was able, I'd find those 

clippers and wiggle my way on 

to his lap - it was our

time. My young hands in his.

My heart knit to his. Forever.