Sixty-three Year Old Widow Refused to Hide Her Gray Hair at Work

and pulled out my silver hairbrush, running it through my hair once to smooth the sides after the windy walk.

It felt light on my head, almost as if a physical weight had been lifted from the scalp.

I looked across the table at Arthur, who was pouring a small stream of cream into his dark coffee.

I do not need to look thirty-eight anymore, Arthur, I said.continue reading …