1/23/23
Her wavy and fine brown hair paints the wind every time she whips it back with her hand. The motion could be as gentle as a stroke on a lover’s face or brutal as the fall from a famous angel landing on the rocks of hades. The hair, oh the hair, wild and untamed and dangerous, her hair is a thing to be wary. To think of her hair is a thought of eroticism; sexy by nature and she tempts many with its twirls. Often, the hair wears a bun as its form and unravels when provoked. The holder of old-world femininity and beauty that cannot be contained sits wrapped up and sprawling with lots of loose ends that curl to find new space. Pulled, laid on, fluffed, tugged, sat on, dragged, thrown, and teased, the hair is a graceful dancer. Full of secrets and sand, the hair waits for a cleaning to share the journey with her and the shower floor. Found everywhere like leaves in October, strains find homes in the hardest places. Her hair leaves a trail of where she’s lived, wandered, and loved.
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