Happiness is No Hat

 

Sometimes, we wear our stories.....

like the beige, knitted, peaked hat

I wore for years,

hair stuffed underneath willy-nilly,
busy single mom of four,
with no time (or inclination)
for fashion.

(Once, at a beauty parlour,
I said to the girl at the desk,
"My hair......." removing said hat,
long hair falling out every which way

 ......."needs help"
and everyone cracked up.)

My kids hated my chapeau. One day

it disappeared. Much later, I discovered

it, flung up onto the roof of the shed,

the kids cackling when I showed them.

(Last time I wore a hat,
with sunglasses,
my daughter said I looked like
I was in the Witness Protection Program.)

Now I walk the beach, bare-headed,

in almost any weather. Winters are milder here,

plus I like feeling free, unfettered,

hate the confinement of a hat,

dislike being unable to see sideways 

when, of necessity, in rain,
I am forced to pull up my hood.

Sometimes we wear our stories.
We change our ways. 
In later years,
we are less and less willing
to feel confined -
perhaps because
what lies ahead are walkers,
wheelchairs and nursing homes,
and we need to exercise our freedom
while we can.

for Mary's prompt at What's Going On : The Stories We Wear