Hair has never been my crowning glory. It has been long, short, straight and curly. It has also been tangled, mussed and missed. As I have gotten older it has gotten less. There is no way to make less seem like more. Especially since I don’t want wigs, implants or paint.
Do I wish it looked like this? I do. However, since it has never looked like that, it is probably not going to happen.
I am not bald. Just short-changed in the amount of hair department. I would say that all of us get less hair as we get older and I would probably be correct. It is just that mine is so fine and now thin, that losing any of it is a sad time.
It is probably the coarseness of silk thread. Single strand. When I awake in the morning, it is sticking straight up. Water helps. Then I look like a drowned kitten. Or if I run my fingers through it while it is wet, a frightened, drowned kitten. By drowned, I mean dunked in water and all the fur slicks down.
I am not really complaining, just stating. When I get to heaven, I want hair like the above, no glasses and be able to hear the angels wings. And no babushkas.
Right now a piece of chocolate the size of the ark could appease me.
Speaking of which, think I will go have one.
Okay, mini Milkyway.
I love how the world looks after a storm. It doesn’t have to be a big, nasty storm, just your generic thunderstorm with lightning and sound. You think everything will be rearranged, but it isn’t.
The sun shines brighter.
The flowers stand up straighter.
The air smells fresher.
And the animals all come out to play and drink.
We had two red foxes come to our house today. They just walked around sniffed the air and wandered back into the woods. They were lovely.
The trees look greener, the grass is taller and the colors are vibrant.
The pollen is settled, at least for a while.
Life after the storm is quieter and brighter. For a while.
Stars can be blue.
The sky can be blue.
Feelings can be blue.
What if we turned the color of our feelings?
Red for anger. Yellow for frustration. Blue for happy.
What if you really turned blue?
Being blue can make it difficult to pick out your clothes for the day.
They have to match your shade. Or enhance it. Perhaps you don’t have the color that would best set off your color.
What if you were blue and you faded into the sky?
Or you could rise to the sky? How cool would that be? You could soar with the eagles and roost with the bluejays.
How would it feel to perch on a branch thirty feet from the ground?
Would you teeter?
Would you totter?
Writing makes me happy.
Writing could make me blue for a day. It would be uplifting.
OOOOOO, I must go. I am rising to the occasion. If you see a bluejay, say hey!. It may be me.