Hand in yours. Yours in mine. Grasp it, clasp it. Tight. Lightly edging me further onwards. This way? But I know I’ve got it right, it’s this other way, my right way. This way? Lead. Still you’ve got it, my hand in yours. Hand in hand is like hearts in hearts and minds in minds. And so when I feel the gentle pull-up that draws me back from the step I was going to step into, it’s the hand I gave you to hold in yours that stopped me short. Pull-up. We turn it back around. One look over my shoulder and I see I was saved from steep steps that cascade down, down, down. Because my hand is in yours.