Voices on the Wind Open Theme
GRAY by Beate Sigriddaughter At forty-seven, Emily stopped coloring her hair to dance floor platinum. She wanted to witness her first gray. She waited and waited. Then one day the neon in the restroom at the office hit two of her hairs just so. Yes. Gray. She tried to cry. It wasn't convincing, even to herself. Also, there was much left to do to earn her living. Papers to be filed, things to be typed. She didn't feel the least bit different, a little lonelier than usual perhaps. Nobody cared if she cried or not. She understood what she had always known: Even for her there would be no exception. Sometime later politics made everything irrelevant. It no longer mattered if her belly was flabby or her hair turned gray. All that mattered was the fear in her unsettled bowels. In autumn on the trail she noticed even asters had gray hair.