I have grown a beard.

It feels like a rebellious act because I know my wife doesn’t like it.

I can’t say that I set out to upset my wife by having grown my beard, but I can’t absolutely say that I have not.

I think a part of me is experimenting, and as I have not had any big public meetings this week at work, I have indulged myself in growing facial hair.

I think my beard makes me look quite distinguished, perhaps it is because it has quite a few grey flecks in its array.

My beard has attracted notice and a few comments and a few observations of silence.

This range of feedback ranging from silence to ridicule at the very extremes and polite banter, has stirred up within me, a sense that any change is met with diversity of opinion both from the self within, and the world without.

My beard, I think will have a short existence, I don’t think it will see in Christmas with me.

I will miss its warmth;

I will miss its courage;

I will miss its rebelliousness;

I will miss its colours;

I will miss its smile, yes, my beard has made me smile.

My next blog will be: Dizzy Spell

William Defoe

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