When I was a child,
My hands were smooth, small and innocent.
My hands wiped away tears. My hands reached for help from parents.
When I was a child, I thought and played like a child.
My hands got dirty.
My hands built sandcastles.
My hands built sandcastles.
Soon my hands began to tell a story.
I became a teenager.
My hands started to be roadblocks,
As my epilepsy slowed me down.
My hands had no will because I had no control.
Taking medicine put my hands back in control.
Painting was a way to express myself with my hands.
I love to give gifts.
With painting I can express myself more than just writing.
"Loving Hands" is a gift to my nephew Anthony.
My nephew is a child of two.
He really loves playing with me.
I notice when I say goodbye, he is so sad to see me leave.
I gave him this painting as a Christmas gift.
Anthony was so surprised.
He said to me, "my hand is in my Daddy's."
My gift is on the wall above his crib.
First Place Winner 2008
Danielle Morris, 36
Woodstock, ON
Photo: Flavio@Flickr
