They say hands tell us a story, you can read them, line by line, how you’ve lived, who you’ve loved and who you’ve lost, it’s all out in the open, our hands can show us what we hide. Grandma, if asked to read your hands, if I held them, tracing signs, to look for the narration of your life, I imagine it to feel just like the brooch I found when we emptied out your house, when you said, that now it’s mine. I looked at it today as I attached it to my bag, It made such lovel

We hold on to things. Memories from when we were kids playing in a sandbox, digging holes to bury our favourite toys in. Holding afternoon tea parties between chaos and stuffed animals, turning cushions into clouds, grass to pasta for us to serve to friends and family, building towers out of mud, planes out of paper, loving families made of dolls. Taking all that's ordinary and adding a little bit of magic. Isn't that worth holding onto? That restless spirit, that naive mind