It is the first year in many that I have not dyed my hair. Silver strands crop up, twinkling. Wrinkles have begun to settle in. And I love them. I could not love them any more, these strands that glint among ashy brown curls, these lines that turn up--up!--after all those furrowed brows. On the subway, I consider the term "shot through with gray," eye men gray at the temples. In the sun, I stare hard at wrinkles, folds, muss my hair, squinch my eyes to see whether there are more. This richness of silver, of tiny smiling lines feels worth its weight in gold.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
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8 maids a-milking:
Sweet. All those lovely memories, settling on you like fairy dust. :)
Thank you for this! Everyone thinks I'm completely bonkers for loving my few newly gray hairs and examining the corners of my eyes for laugh lines. But I think they're sexy and sweet - whoever they happen to be on. Glad to find a kindred spirit.
Neither my mom or my grandmother ever went grey, and I suspect my hair will be the same. But for some reason, when my sort of blond hair glints in that almost silver way I get hopeful until I realize it's just blond...I look forward to what my age will bring.
I love this. Plus you will match your boots.
I have long suspected I shall feel this way. I will likely find out soon, my mother and sister both started turning grey in their late twenties.
Oh and you have the perfect haircut for showing off your beautiful new flecks of grey.
that's is a beautiful piece of writing. not just the sentiment, but the wording. i will return to it and read it again. thanks.
So why do both things haunt me? I prefer your outlook. Very wise, indeed.
so lovely. i'm feeling the same way about mine.
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