Hand, mine

What shall I say about this hand? It's holding a pen. When it writes (this hand), it pours out a great deal of nonsense, and a few marvelous insights. Sometimes it will neither write nor draw, but only hold a book to read. It works hard all day doing repetitive tasks and sometimes lifting heavy things, or sorting them. It likes to drive cars, stroke animals, pick up rocks. Yesterday afternoon it tapped nervously while waiting for something. Today it held onto a camera and took some wonderful pictures. Now it's typing up this note. Here is my hand.