My mother’s curly hair is growing strands of grey.
She had cut it, saying how much time it takes to take care of it.
There is never enough time.
To tend to it,
to share love,
to say I am sorry for all the ways you felt pain learning to knit yourself some semblance of life.
I associate grey with lateness
Like when the sun is too late to come up and we wake up to grey horizons
Or when it’s existence on my mother’s head let’s me know time is sipping away.
I am thinking this as I take my morning run.
Perhaps to chase my blues away
Or maybe
To see if I can catch up with time.
Shiru_wa_Wanjiku2022
Image from Pixabay