My partner's hands. They are worth their weight in gold. They construct tiny, magical things that will last a lifetime, and then some. His hands are covered in glue, metal flakes, saw dust, scrapes and burns from hand tools. Silver polish turns his fingers a brassy orange and his fingernails are constantly black. He scribbles pen marks on the tops of his hands, and tests the sharpness of his blades by scraping the hair from his wrists. His hands are soft from wax and coconut oil, and strong from cutting metal and wood.
He clicks his fingernails when he's thinking, and when his fingers touch my face, it's magnetic. Those hands build fires, tame animals, feed baby birds, carry heavy driftwood from the river for me and sand down the rough edges on our work. Those hands keep our lights on and food on our table. His palms are calloused and the veins on the tips of his hands rise up when he's working, blood pumping straight to his heart. Working all hours of the night. I'm so thankful for those hands and the man attached to them.
And, he makes the world's best omelettes, with those hands.