Hair today, gone tomorrow
It's shorter than it's been for years.
I find it impossible to concentrate on journeys when I'm not driving. My mind invariably wanders during the course of the journey, and inexplicably, seems to snap back into attention at exactly the same points along the route, an uncanny habit that has resulted in my daily trip to campus existing in my head only as a disconnected series of snapshots, without any notion of how to get from one to the other.
There is a blind man who takes my bus every Wednesday morning at 0905, and, bereft of the gift of sight that I have, still manages to get on and get off at the right places, every single time, without prompting, presumably by keeping track of the turns in the road. This entry is to say that he puts me to Shame, and also that every time I see him, tapping his cane gently along the sidewalk, the weak sunlight glinting off his shades, I look around with grateful eyes: at people, at the stout square tiles that line our campus pavements, at the curl of an orange peel on the ground, at colours that suddenly seem brighter for the one less pair of eyes to drink them in. Even the dank, heavy grey of today's uninspiring sky seemed full of possibility.