Last week I looked at my hands. For the very first time they looked old. Wrinkly and dry.
These days they’re mostly used for typing and steering down I-40..
Long ago, they lived a tougher, more adventurous life life amongst pool chemicals, window cleaning, high pressure water, cold weather, and repeated beatings against stringed instruments of all sorts.
I’d like to say that my hands became wiser with age. They didn’t. They just got old.