Fingers

Baby fingers. Cute little digits, so bendy, so tiny, so fragile. Like you could break one off without even trying. Surely that’s why we have ten—it’s nature’s way of compensating for the fact that they will break off from time to time. Disposable, almost. Sometimes, looking at Jane’s, I find it inconceivable that anybody could keep them all into adulthood. And yet most of us do. Darndest thing.