Have you ever sat atop a beautiful mountain and been perplexed? Not by the beauty or mystery of it, but by the question. Can you hear it? It's like the trees speak to God and taunt us with the mystery of the question. It seems as if they rumble with laughter when the wind blows by or when they drop snow from their heavy boughs. Maybe they laugh at us for the stupid things our humanities bring out in us. Or maybe they are leading us on, trying to give us hints into understanding that one question that we ourselves can't put into words. Whatever the case, I feel like they hear me and that we have an understanding. It may be silent, but it's clear.
I felt the fear as he came gliding towards me with that breathtaking smile, I was quite terrified as his beautiful face came close to my hand as to kiss it yet he bared his razor teeth and pricked out my skin to expose one tiny hole that bled a single drop to his lips. I felt the rush of excitement and fury; a mixture of love and hate flow through him. Then he left me, cold and alone in that dry desert of lost love. When he found me again my body was ready for him. I had gathered all of the strength I thought I needed; but alas he melted all that when he brought his eyes to mine. What a beautiful and majestic meeting! He wrapped his arms around me and rocked me back and forth. His warm breath tickled my ear as he spoke sweet things to me. our hands traced each others' and clasped together. And with vengeance like the wind he was gone that fast. Slipping away into a space I couldn't enter yet the beauty of his smile was burning on in my memory.
A haircut is like a recipe. The ingredients and steps have been the same for generations, yet the finished product always tastes and looks different. The techniques and the art that goes with a cut never changes but each artist that puts their imagination to work produces something that never looks the same; just like the different tastes of fine cuisine.
