I often ponder the art of palm-reading--interpreting the body's map of
life. Staring at the creases of my own, I see nothing familiar. Perhaps
the map of my life can be found in my palm, should I have the courage to
ignore the deep creases--the direct routes. The courage to ignore the
thick, red interstates that leap to the eyes, promising convenience and
ease. I will choose instead the path implied by the backroads, potholes,
and streams--the barely perceptible lines, pores, and translucent veins
that make my palm truly unique, truly inspiring. A map to be followed.
[Elizabeth Hendrix]
