pixie dust

My hair is short again like a pixie, making my face look new.  My surroundings may be old and familiar, but the year I’m begining feels as fresh as this new look.

I’ve always said I want to shave my head some day, just so I can have the priviledge of running my fingers over my fuzzy scalp as much as I want, enjoying the sensation.  Today in the shower I felt my short hair with my fingertips and the smoothness of the water flowing through it.  I thought about change and choices.  How easy it is to take a pair of scissors to the locks and create a new appearance.  To move the body to a new town and start again. 

The mirror might be shocking at first, but with realistic perspective it can also be hopeful, exciting even.  And if there’s no vanity in it, it only is as it is–a home for something more than a hairstyle.  The constant home that never changes no matter where it is, what it’s wearing, or who surrounds it.  It is all I need because it is all there is. I am never without it.