This subject is probably move moving to me than it should.

The struggle of trying to let my hair grow when I was a kid and my parents made me keep them short. The delusion, when they were a bit longer, and immediately found them short again back home from the barber shop. Is this long wait that probably made me keep them long for so many years when I finally could let them grow. I also refused for so many years to go to barber, opting only for home cuttings.

The refound joy of thresh haircut and a new look. The pleasure of changing. The knowledge that sometimes you must select, and tide-up to let something be beautiful.

When we visited “Villa del Balbianello” the guide told us that when the owner who built end the house lived there, the gardeners had to wake up before him every day, and cut any spontaneous flower in the grass since he would have never tollerated seeing a flower in a grass area. Grass should have been grass, and strictly grass only. He probably was an awful person to deal with.

Hair cuts and cut hair on floor and shoulders reminds me vintage footage of the long hair shaving of young man called to became solders, and sent die the other part of the world.

Cutting flowers for clean grass field evokes me also the pain seeing the destruction brought to thousands of living being for someone’s plan.