Hands are windows that allow me to see what I might normally not. I know whether I will like someone by how I react to their touch. I even can tell whether I will ultimately trust a physician or therapist by the way that they touch. The bond is instantaneous when it’s right.
A hand doesn’t seem like much – weighing in as it does at less than a pound. Sure, it has twenty-seven bones and nearly four dozen tendons, and there are those who sing praises to a complexity that can at once engage each of forty or more muscles with exquisite dexterity. Others trumpet its seventeen thousand nerve endings - Meissner’s Corpuscles, Merkel Cells, Pacinian Corpuscles, and of course, Ruffini Endings. Fine. I’ll concede that it’s an intricate anatomy and worthy of endless detailing.
Nothing, however, can begin to describe the true wonder of the hand - when those incredible sensitivities interwoven with the richness of human emotion inspire truly transcendent moments of extraordinary power. I find no words in our earthbound languages that can adequately