Monday morning, drabblers (at least in my part of the world), and you know what that means....

Challenge #4 is closed.

Challenge #5 is courtesy of the utterly splendid Nilly: Hands. You know the drill. Please leave your message at the beep.

Go to it.

Question: There are particular lines from a poem that have sparked/are sparking my drabble thoughts. If I quote them, are they exempt from my word count?

Hmmm. Seeing as how I'm not actually counting words and bringing the Smackdown of Drabble Accuracy, I think any outside material you quote (as an epigraph, for example) do NOT count towards word count.

Oh sure Nilly suggests the "hands" topic. . .

Thank you!

Oh sure Nilly suggests the "hands" topic. . .

Hey! She really DID! I mean, I'm not complaining....

"...the network of veins in
your hands changed to the underside
of a leaf."
-"While I May Still Understand" Annette Allen Country of Light

When no one is there to see and remember, the leaves shiver, the interwoven strands of vines come alive with purpose, part down the middle of their mass, and fall away to each side, halves of a curtain parted. What sleeps within unfolds, rises to its true height, and stands clad in motley brown and green and gold, crowned in laurel and holly twined with gilt-edged ivy. The hands clasping loosely the edges of its cloak are made of leaves, overlapped and woven, shaped into instruments of use, the leaf-veins grown into sinew and bone.

Oh, Bev, how lovely.

I saw it, you know?

And thanks.

My first one:

Arpeggio

I remember his hands, memory bringing tactility to eyes and heart.

The knuckles were bony, somehow elegant. From thumb to pinky, the stretch on the keyboard was well over an octave; he kept the nails trimmed, but they were beautiful, pale half-moons never reflecting illness, a faulty heart, someone else's kidneys. His fingers were longer than mine, bent more easily, were somehow reflective of a self-containment I lacked. He never took his hands for granted.

Fingers made music, on the piano, on my body. They still play during the night, marking the chilly march of the night hours, toward morning.