My hair, much like the months of a year, the weeks of a month, and in my case, the days of the week, is constantly changing, while still remaining the same.  My hair has a mind of its own.  It has its own emotions and feelings every day of the week.  On Sunday, it is a soft cotton candy pillow, fluffed and ready to be slept on; especially after I have washed it.  On Monday, it is bouncy and full of life, swirling, moving, and dancing in the wind to a beat that only it can hear.  On Tuesday, it is calm, easy, and manageable, like a yoga artist meditating peacef

       I look outside my window every now and then to find myself staring outside. "It's beautiful" I think to myself. The way the full bearing trees branch over the park, protecting it from the sun like it was gold . Also, I love the way the clear blue sky (with the reformable clouds) outlines and brings out the horizon line of the neighborhood. It's truly remarkable! Then I look down to view the train tracks and all the little people who work in the car dealership.