There's something about that stringy little wisp of hair that gets stuck in my mouth when I'm running. When I was a child I remember racing through a field in a white flower-girl dress. It was weeks after the wedding, the bride was long gone, the guests had gone home, the tent was down, but the dress was going strong. With my heart racing, I put one scuffed, white, patent leather shoe in front of the other. The dandelions became my audience; the wind my band. And those little pieces of soggy hair were proof that beauty isn't about appearance, it's about the experience.
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