Fingers drift lightly over keys –
individual letters, black and white, or metal attached to levers to release air –
never pressing too hard, or too lightly, just enough.
Generous with time, speed, caresses, and
eager to find the exact combination that will
release the words, notes, music to
sooth and bring solace.
Someone and I were talking the other day about facial wrinkles. Actually, it was my massage therapist, and she was using a cupping technique on my face, around my sinuses and eyes and jaws. The goal of the technique is to loosen the various dermis layers and hopefully, the lymph paths below, in order to relieve sinus pressure. It actually did help, but she was laughing as she explained that various spas use the technique to temporarily erase tiny age lines. I said, “But, I like those! They show when people laugh and some of their life experience!” She agreed. In the process we got off an a tangent about how eyes can be the first thing one looks at when determining the attractiveness of another person. Someone’s eyes can tell so much about their character. And that’s very true for me.
But it’s also true that I look at hands and fingers.
I don’t have a particular type of hand or finger or other thing that I like, and it’s not as though I’m looking for clubbed thumbs or bent pinky finger final digits (although I remember from high school biology class that those are recessive gene traits – or were at the time, genes are going through a different sort of understanding now than then I think). I just like looking at hands. It’s interesting to me how the same set of hands can look different depending on what they’re doing. If I’ve had my nails professionally done with acrylic layered on top, and shaping and colors, my hands almost look graceful. They’re not long, but they are petite. With the nails, they have the illusion of being longer and the slight chubbiness is hidden. Close up, there are myriad tiny scars on the backs of my hands and fingers from kitten and cat claws and teeth, because I play with them. There are tiny white and shiny bits where bacon grease and cookie sheets burned the skin. My cuticles are almost always horrid because if I don’t have my nails done (which I often don’t), I pick at the loose bits.
I like seeing what jewelry people wear. What fingers they’ve graced with what rings. Often, it tells me something about their loves – someone I care about wears sterling silver rings adorned with cats and books. Someone else I love only wears her wedding ring. Another friend wears her wedding ring, a series of fidget rings to help her nerves and often a ring with a stone that matches her earrings or clothing for the day.
Some men who work in construction or warehouse industries have worn skin that might look very rough. The steel or dust or grime has worked so deep into the creases of their skin that they look permanently dirty, no matter how often they wash. What is interesting to me is to watch those same rough hands doing something very deft and careful: working on tech, holding a baby, or soothing and playing with an animal.
I do suppose I prefer longer fingers, although I’m equally interested in smaller hands that are closer to my own size. I like seeing the difference between blunt, flat squared fingers and long, slender pointed fingers. Tiny baby fingers with their fragile sharp nails are amazing in their strength and ability to tease things away that they want to explore.
Fingers and hands help us to explore. Some people use them as literal eyes. So in a way, I suppose it all circles around to the same thing.