"Photo of the Week Contest 15 | Sharing my best Photo of the Week"

Some traditions never fade. They become a part of who we are. For me, I love one best. It is my mother putting henna on my hands. It is more than just a pretty design. It speaks of love, old family ways, and our strong tie.

The earthy, sweet smell of henna starts it all. It means a change is coming. I sit on her lap, a spot I know well. My hands stretch out, ready for her art. She holds a cone of dark paste. Her fingers move with great care. She has done this for years.

Each line she makes is thought out. Flowers, thin vines, and shapes appear on my skin. This takes a slow, steady pace. We often talk softly then. We share old memories. Sometimes we just sit in peace. That quiet says a lot. I feel very calm. I feel linked to all the women before us. They shared this same practice.

The paste dries. It turns into a light crust. This crust holds a promise of beauty. I wait eagerly for it. Then we uncover it. We peel off the dry henna. A rich, reddish-brown stain shows underneath.

Each design is special. It makes my hands into art that lives. Every curve and line tells a story. Not just of how pretty it is. But of family history, happy times, and women's strong art.

It is more than just a nice look. My mother's henna means so much. It is like a good wish. A hope for luck and happiness. We use it for parties. For weddings. Or just to show love. It links me to my culture. It keeps family ways alive.

These ways came down through time. When I see the designs, it is more than a pretty pattern. I see my mother's care. Her skill. And many stories in each line.

The color fades after a while. But those moments stay with me. Not just on my skin. They are deep in my heart. My mother's henna shows her great love. It is a gift I hold dear. I want to pass it on. One design at a time.

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Photos taken with smartphone iPhone 13.
I would invite my friends @shohana1, @mollymochtar and @speem to take part in the contest.

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