the accidental poet

Ever since we had taken our first camping trip, Jeff had always dreamed of going to Yellowstone, and we had finally been able to swing it. As we got on to Interstate 94 out of Eau Claire, I could practically see Jeff’s excitement pouring from every gland in his body.
“Erik, I can’t believe it, we finally get to go to Yellowstone,” Jeff said as he poured over the maps and itinerary one more time. One thing Jeff was, was methodical. I counted that as one of the blessings on our trips, because he always had everything planned out perfectly.

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They cut it all off. All of it. My hair is so short now. It’s the most liberating thing I have ever done. It felt so wild and spur of the moment to just go in to the barber shop and say, “Cut it off, cut it all off.” I feel like a new man. It’s perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such startled looks on the faces of my acquaintances. They had always told me I looked great with long hair, that having a pony tail hanging between my shoulder blades was “Cool.” “Dean,” they would say, “I just love your long hair. It looks great on you.” Well, no more. It’s short and I like it that way.

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