Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord

I saw, rather gruesome, the joined hands of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning cast in bronze at the Metropolitan Museum Shop in San Francisco. There they were, her hand tiny and bony, his manly, with some sort of texture which presumably was to make them look weathered and antique. It was just too personal to be in a shop.

My own tiny right hand is slowly losing the scabs from putting up the beam above the shower, although that seems a lifetime ago and I am fretting over what to do next. Maybe I should wait until the scars on the left hand fade? I bought the nepeta I wanted yesterday: should I garden?

I do believe the best actions bubble irrepressibly from within, so we join the Cosmic Dance. Is there virtue in the duty-bound? Depends on the ideology. Going to Meet the One might be wanting Lucy-ish Ups and Upper Ups. My limitations are self-inflicted for the most part.