Such a Dear Living Dead!

'How can piles of dead cells be the cause of such great liveliness and love?' It's now some time that I have been charmed by the question. More than the question, like all others of course, I have longer been captivated by the unquestionable beauty it brings to life.
Sometimes it is prestigious when it is short; then you see a long flirting one and you wonder: 'what of the other one?' Next, it is black which shines out and intensifies beauty with contrast and challenge. Yet, before long you are left astounded with golden glimmer and glow of an irresistible blonde. Only to go ecstatic with the exotic composite of the brunette and still more exotic blends of beige, black and what not. All the same, you can never imagine what next would take your breath away. And the story repeats itself with the number of diverse forms, colours, blends, fashions, cuts, etc. of hair you see on somebody's humble head.
Funny enough, even the lack of those dead threads of hair can also be charming because they have a story of their own why they are not where they are supposed to be.
Throughout centuries hair has so affected aesthetics that many aesthetical recognitions are primarily flagged by some features of hair. If it is not its colour (blonde, black, ...), it's the feel of it (soft, silky, ...). While some fantasize their imagination with the length of their beloved's tress, others get lost in the frivolous ringlets of the the shifty mistress. As smoothness and willowing flow of it does so little to fully bewitch reluctant brags, curly loops may do even less to trap fool heads. And some even may choose to write a mock epic on "The Rape of the Lock" (Alexander Pope).

Whatever your story of hair, I have yet a long tale left with me to braid....