Flinging my hands over this keyboard makes me delightedly happy. So many writers talk about the benefits of writing by hand, but let this be an ode to writing by fingers. It is a pleasure, this sound. Tap-a, tap-a, tap-a, tap-a. The competence I am immediately, generously reminded of. The freedom to end sentences in prepositions. To make words, and the sentences they find themselves in, do whatever I command. How my fingers know these keys the way they have never known, will probably never know, a more musical kind of keyboard. It is a kind of deep pleasure. Pleasure for the aesthetic of it and for its meaning. That it means I have the ability, in that I mean capacity and that I mean an able body and mind and heart and life, to do this. Here. Now. The word thankful comes to mind.
