Ann Coddington Rast, USA
Some hair came out in my brush two years ago last May. I remember this incident distinctly since I saved three hairs from that day. I ran across those hairs in an old green box when we were packing to move to the big grey house on Haines Boulevard.
The unusual and significant thing about the hairs was their colors. My hair is brown - or should I say, was brown and is now ever slowly greying. These particular hairs were partly brown and partly grey. The odd thing was they were almost striped - brown on the bottom then a grey part, then brown and so forth.
I looked at them and as I did, I felt old. I had never before felt old. These three hairs had inconceivable power. They had the ability to persuade me, to change the perception I had of my physical self. I looked at these hairs and, although I thought no differently, I was different. A door had swung shut behind me. The innocuous, silent act of brushing my hair precipitated a significant realization and from that day to this, and on I am changed.