Assuming that the base of the finger, where it connects by knuckle to the hand is the first knuckle…the second knuckle, where my fingers bend down and into my palm, all ten of hers rose up at a 90 degree angle. Then the small part of her finger that was left after the second knuckle pointed straight out…almost as if she were making small swans out of each of her digits.
Luckily she didn’t see me staring at her hands, as it may have left her feeling self-conscious, but I couldn’t take my eyes from them. Not because I thought them odd or bad…but because something about them was beautiful…something about them drew me in… I mean, obviously the ring that I first looked over to see was gorgeous, but as I looked carefully, her skin seemed so soft as the sunlight danced across it.
Her nails were manicured but not painted.
Her slender wrists were adorned with glittering gold braclets.
Her sleeves were long, but pushed up to her elbows showcasing the delicate skin of her arms.
Why am I staring at her like this? I caught myself thinking that multiple times in the 3 minutes we sat at that light. I was transfixed by her upturned fingers…by the fact that she couldn’t ever remove that ring without having to cut it from her hand. I wondered, as the light changed and she turned right as I went straight, if her hands had been that way long because her actions betrayed an acceptance of this condition.