For three years Child Harbat has watched while girls her age have grown our long Rapnuzel hair while hers has remained stubbornly short. Her hair has transformed from short downy to short spikey to short and fine and flat to short with fine curls. Now I present the newest phase: short with massive whorls.
I comb it out straight as I dry it after her bath and she look like an Afghan hound with demure bangs swooping over her forehead but by morning we have this swirling flame of hair that dances out in all directions like Medusa’s serpentine locks. What’s to be done? For now I enjoy it, the beautiful gold highlights in a frozen gyre atop her head, as unpredictable as the paths our conversations take. Without any outside influence her hair is assuming her personality: wild, extroverted, and utterly heart-warming.