Thursday, April 14, 2005


The pastor's sister, Hannelore Beier, was a woman in her thirties with crippled hands. Her fingers over-lapped and drew themselves toward her palms, birdlike claws which she refused to hide. When she taught...she moved them gracefully, those stiff extensions of herself, weaving the texture of her words into our hearts.

[At dinner one Sunday] the young teacher watched her hands fly across the white linen and polished silver with a beauty he'd never believed existed. They were like young birds, those hands, poised to fly off independently, and he wanted to reach out for them, hold them briefly in the cup of his palms before releasing them.

--Ursula Hegi, Floating in My Mother's Palm


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