Last week Olivia and I were drawing. “Ring ponds,” she said to me, pointing at my hands.
“Ring ponds?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Your knuckles. They look like ponds when a stone goes in.”
Ah, the gift of seeing my aging self through my granddaughter’s eyes. No longer will I see my hands as evidence of time cascading over life’s waterfall. Instead I’ll call to mind “ring ponds,” those infinite circles of wonder, beauty and love — contours of the bond Olivia and I share.