The Handprint Tree
Ten years of painted hands and feet represented on a not so pretty tree, a bit lopsided and the green not quite forest colored. Through the eyes of a mother though, perfection. I am filled with contentment each time I pass by, taking the carefully created cards in my hands as I remember. The littlest hands were the hardest to capture and paint, the tiny clenched fingers refused to unfold and I soon realized that sleeping babies were the best subjects. The carefully cut recycled Christmas cards displaying newborn feet are my most favorite.
The bits of Christmas cards have grown in size as the wee hands and feet change and bloom. The tiny palms have widened and the chubby fingers lengthen and willow. Funny how the delicate blown glass and painted tin creations are afterthoughts these days. Their number has whittled down though, with the occasional falling tree, greedy hand, and even a climbing cat one year. The handprint tree is fairly safe from children’s inquisitive fingers, the thick paper accustomed to being handled and exclaimed over time again. It is a tree that only a mother could love, filled with the stories of four children that have made her life so very grand.