Norman B. Rice
Joy is a bright yellow zinnia... speckled with Sooner red...and growing wild in our garden. Joy is a tiny yellow butterfly that struggles from bloom to bloom, blown and battered in the winds that sweep across this prairie land. Joy is the light in evening, playing across the garden in streaks and shadows....peeking and hiding in the lush green leaves that wave there. But the joy that touches my heart the most is found in the hands that shelter this bloom for my camera! Hands lined with wisdom and smelling like rich, black earth. Hands that lift me up when life lets me down...and ease the pain from a long, busy day with a tender, deep touch. Hands that lift a tiny little girl and swing her in the air.....hands that hold my own so proudly as we walk....anywhere! Hands that have reached out at my darkest moments...and pulled me back into the light, indeed. Pure, sweet joy in these tanned, wrinkled fingers......waiting patiently at the end of each day. How lucky I am!