Since I have
young relatives, it's usually a
sticky,
squishy,
dirty little hand grabbing for mine, not-so-gently.
Tiny fingers with
miniscule fingernails, formed from the
dust of the earth by some recurring
miracle. They grasp and pull, excited to drag me
wearily hither and yon for one discovery after another.
It's the feeling of innocence and wide-eyed wonder.