My hands are shadowed in the late evening dusk of Iowa. A light tan beginning to encompass them and freckles sprinkled throughout. It will get darker as summer moves forward. My left finger is encircled by my wedding ring. A ring I love and would never trade, even for the encrusted diamond one I saw the other day. It is a symbol of Blake's love and our commitment and nearly 12 years of trials, love, laughter, hardships and endurance. It is a symbol of forever. On my right ring finger is a friendship ring Hailey gave me. It is neon green and used to say BFF, but got rubbed off by many washings. The pink one was given to Brooke because she wanted it so desperately, and lost in the same minute. It is probably hiding under her bed collecting dust bunnies until the next time we attempt that room cleaning. My fingers have two creases on the inside of them, the palm side. My mother has the same creases. She and I are the only ones who share these creases. My dad loves that we do. My hands have fingernails bitten down to the quick. The cuticles are overgrown and unkempt. My goal: to stop biting those fingernails, a habit I began in first grade. A bit of dirt under my nails as I just finished weeding some of the garden, the corn and tomatoes and strawberries beginning life. Gardening is not work to me. I think I have always loved creating. My hands help me create. My hands help me write, turn pages, rub backs, tickles and hugs. My hands are perfect for holding Blake's. My hands can tell a story. You just need ask.