I was informed by Ella (5) that I have the
oldest hair in the family.
My hair is 45.
Except it isn’t. Nothing of my body is 45.
It all renews itself. Until it doesn’t.
So what on earth is it that we
refer to as being 45.
-
I imagine my soul to be far more
ancient. Probably timeless.
As I imagine time to be
misinformed. And age a fool.
-
And now, through this imagination,
I wonder what I’ll see of this world
through timeless eyes.
Wearing, of course, my timeless hair.
NB. I get the irony of these thoughts, given that I have less hair than I once did
[GET NIC'S FILMS & WORDS]
