This morning I caught a later bus than usual and found myself sharing public transportation with a boy who had the most beautiful head of red hair that I have ever seen. I first caught sight of him while we were waiting for the approaching bus to pull up to where we waited. The bright autumn sun seemed to seek him out, glancing off the dark red copper and making the colour so rich and vibrant it took my breath away.
I have ALWAYS wanted red hair. Beautiful, thick, long red hair. Maybe curly, maybe straight, that's not really important. All that mattered - and still matters - is the colour. I long for red hair, the kind of heavenly red that you want to sink your senses in to. Anne of Green Gables, my hero in so many other ways as well, had what I coveted so strongly - a bright braid of red. But, she despised it! So, while she was struggling to come to peace with the hated hues of her hair, I was stewing with jealousy. I'd be more than happy to take on her burden, if only she wasn't a fictional character in a favourite book.
Why red? Well, I don't really know. I guess you could say that red hair is a symbol of everything I've never been - fiery, passionate, rare, exciting, eye-catching, electric. Red hair is common in the Irish and Scottish, two parts of my four-split heritage and the two cultures I align myself with most strongly. Or it could just be that red is my favourite colour to look at and to live in.
Usually I prefer to stay away from dying my hair as I am usually pretty content now with my brownish-auburnish locks. They redden up slightly in the summer, and glow in under the sun in a pleasing way. And, I like to be natural, real. After setting sights on that beautiful colour this morning, though, I'm considering making a stylist appointment, stat, so that I can carry the most beautiful part of autumn atop my head.
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