Golden Hands of My Gran by Liza

Golden Hands of My Gran

She kneaded more than dough —
she kneaded strength into me,
folded compassion into the rhythm of my days,
seasoned my spirit with wisdom
that smelled of fresh bread and quiet care.

Her presence was earth itself:
grounded, steady,
a woman who carried independence like a crown,
yet wore tenderness like a shawl.

She taught me that nurturing is not soft,
it is fierce,
it is the courage to show up
for elders forgotten,
for children learning,
for life itself.

And I — her little fire thunder being,
always busy, always questioning,
chasing answers through the corridors of life,
exploring every shadow,
demanding to know why the world turns.

Yet in her lap, as this photo shows,
she alone could still my storm,
draw a smile from my restless face,
teach me that even lightning
needs a place to rest.

She did not silence my thunder;
she steadied it,
showed me how curiosity, when held in love,
becomes wisdom’s companion.

In her kitchen, I learned the alchemy of love.
In her footsteps, I learned
that service is the highest recipe.