GRAF 1

As I look down at my hands, I see my future. I dream of a sparkling, small diamond on my left ring finger, from a man whom I have not yet met. I watch my fingers begin to fold, as if I am cupping something in my left hand, and I dream of an infant's tiny head that the hand is supporting. As I am holding this child, my right hand is supporting the rest of the infant's body, and I am gazing into my first born's eyes.  I look at my hands and I see future wrinkles, the wrinkles that reflect the hard work that my hands will do; the cooking, the writing, the typing.  I invision scars from hot embers that I was not patient enough to let cool before adding that extra piece of wood to the fireplace. I look down at my hands and I see not my past, not my present, but my future.