There is something so poignant about the small hand of a child reaching up to clasp the hand of a grandparent. This little one is concentrating on the pinecones in her arms. She doesn't look to see if his hand is there--she reaches up, knowing Grandpa's hand will be there to hold hers.
I remember that feeling of love and safety which would surround me when my grandfather and I would walk hand in hand, across the field. When I was small he was my very best friend. He listened to my troubles, heard my dreams, and believed in me.
How grateful I am for the beauty of relationship between the old and the young. There is something lovely and fragile, yet strong there.