Hairs in herds migrate across the plain scalp of my head. This is best seen from a distance through the long lens of time. Given enough time and enough distance, the movement transforms into a graceful, delicate decline. The hairs are soon cut down to their stubs by human hand. Nevertheless, they stay on their slow path, unaware even as their neighbors fall all around them. Their simple trust in their environment makes them easy prey. As a result, many are cut out of boredom or spite. It is truly a dark time. But, given enough distance, it is merely a shadow, and, some would say, a necessary step to clear room for the colonization of the polyester cap.


To learn more about Jeremiah Gould, visit his blog Incidental Memoirs.