There’s still an air of change that the strands of my hair can feel. This is one of those braver, launch out to the world posts- where as two nights ago I was on my bedroom floor, my eyes leaking a fresh batch.
It is not a rolling lawn, hilly field scene. It is cliffs, jutted out rocks, grass and sand.
I walk the grasses of eager and strength and without even having time to lose my footing, I’m falling down a hole that has sandpaper walls.
I’m getting tired of these frantic and draining surprises.
It’s not like I’m getting better at them.
I’ll have to make the necessary adjustments, realign my path and try something different. I cannot continue doing the same things and expect a different outcome.
Hence, the change my hair strands can feel.