Righthand

This is the dominant hand. The hand that writes, sketches and plucks. Looking at it intently stirs memories of things it has helped create using tools as simple as a raw piece of charcoal or ochre, as refined as some of the finest, hand-crafted musical instruments, and as complex as some of the most advanced engineering workstations ever manufactured. Still unmarred by devastating injuries which could have severely crippled it in a matter of microseconds, it's in fine operating condition. No pains. No shakes or shudders. No disfiguring, disabling scars.

Considering all of the inherently hazardous environments it has toiled in from wildcat rig floors to heavy steel structures construction sites, it amazes me that all of its highly tactile-guided experiences have accumulated to culminate in a shape and form so ready for any task it takes on, from here until death, in peacetime activities only, so far. If ever it is forced into wartime service, I'm not sure what effect that will have on it Now beginning its seventh decade of existence, perhaps it won't ever have to be employed in that horrific industry, but it's capable and ready to help defend home and hearth if necessary. In the meantime, it helps create works of satisfying interest and value within its realm of influence and control.