CORPUS

Happy Friday, everyone! What are your plans for the weekend? My parents are coming in for a few days, and I can't wait to see them and actually do things instead of lying in bed since I'm finally finished being sick. I feel like it's been such a long time since I shared some art and a short story with you, and I'm so excited to share again.

Okay, I have to admit that I'm pretty much a 13-year-old girl for still liking Enrique Iglesias, but yes, I still do. The song that goes with this painting remind me of Enrique a tiny bit, and I heard it yesterday while I was driving around running errands. Don't make fun of me if you think it's corny. Sigh. I just love it.

This is the song to listen to while you read. :)

Her frail hands, weathered from hard work, held the paintbrush that she stroked across the canvas. Those hands served her so well for eighty years. They allowed her to illustrate moments from dreams, gently hold new life, express love and happiness, and grasp the hands of those she loved.

With each glide, she was reminded of both of their hands, clasped tightly together: like the first time he gained the courage to hold her soft, tanned hand when they were barely teenagers; when they ran hand-in-hand in the sandy beach toward the crashing waves on their first summer trip together; when she stood in her white dress, he in his black suit, to promise to love and support one another until the end of their days; the times he spontaneously swept her up to dance while they cooked in the kitchen; and of course the thousands of hugs they were both blessed with from the dear family they had descended from as well as new generations they had helped create.

As she thought to herself, she felt the familiar touch on her shoulder. Turning toward him, she smiled as he held out his aged, but strong hand toward her, noticing that his blue eyes with flecks of green and brown beckoned her to take a break from the art and join him in the nature surrounding them. As her small, coarse hands were enveloped in his much larger, worn hands, she felt such love and security in the touch, remembering the realization of needing to spend the rest of her life with him as a young girl in her twenties. Despite her years, her memories about that trip were vivid; she remembered the swaying of the green palms with the wind, the bright colors of the vegetation, the white foam formed from the meeting of waves, and the soothing sunshine washing on her skin. Smiling at the thought she had felt so many years ago, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze as they walked in the soft, warm sand toward the rolling waves.