For as long as I could remember, hair has always bewildered me. My own eyelashes, eyebrows, and head hair. Hair was always there for my nervous fingers to caress, to trace the line of that precious strand, and to finally, pluck, like a feather from a raven, shiny, dark, and smooth. Like a feather fallen from a soaring raven, the hair strand released into the world, from the open car window during a drive along the coast. The wind steals it away. A single hair strand I will never see again. A single hair floating on the ocean surface, maybe.