The Gift of Mother's Hands

I watched her taking in the sign, the door in the front window. If my gift was intuiting and maybe a bit of prescience I could feel that hers was for healing. She would have the gift of the cool touch of mother's hands on a hot forehead,. The soft voice that would ease another to relax. Cinder wove through my ankles, excited as well at the proximity of such warm, lovely magic.