Cancer will do that
By Lynn Volkens
I stepped outside last Thursday afternoon to get a couple of logs from the woodpile. A gust of wind met me full on, lifting my hair away from my face – and blowing it clean off my head. I watched, through squinted eyes, as my light-brown-turning-grey bangs disappeared, spiraling almost in a piece, high above the house and then disintegrating like a particle explosion; individual strands were whisked away in all directions. It made me think of settler women who cut their menfolks’ hair each spring, then loosed the winter’s trimmings to the wind in hopes the soft bedding material would encourage songbirds to nest nearby. It also struck me funny.
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