These days, my hair and beard are long — depending on the light, home to an early winter, or to all four seasons at once, like one of Gramp’s old work shirts, blossom, grape, earth, leaf, frost. I practice simple daily cleanliness, wear clothes to match, and which require almost no closet space. And so I wonder — is my natural unadorned appearance a public invitation to set aside what’s useless, and love the rest? Is it why you smiled when we met? Or is it more than that?
Circa 1959, with my grandfather, when time was plentiful.
Photo from the cover of No Time to Cut My Hair, Author’s Press Series, 2002.
A collection of seventy short stories written in ninety days.
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