I cut my own hair today. Not a trim, not a tidy up of the bangs, but four good inches, standing at the bathroom sink with the kitchen scissors.
I hesitated– because you’re supposed to, I guess. But life is a draft– so is a website, so is an essay, so is a haircut, so is a home.
So I cut it off. Lightened the load. And, oh, it felt good! I crowed with delight– and thanked my granny for her good curl that only shows itself when my hair is short: forgiving and bouncy and hard to mess up.
“Was that you I saw walking when I drove into town?” a friend asked; “Did you cut your hair again?”
Fresh as a pussywillow, as all the running streams and rivulets through gravel roads. Ready for a fresh start and an early, sunny spring!