Dull murmurs commenced as some rose and some lingered
in the established court.
The dense wood doors swung heavily open with a sigh of stale air,
their wrought-iron hinges creaking sharply, the sound reverberating down the empty halls
save all but one,
a young miss who sat up with the muffled movement and shuffles of feet exiting the formerly private session.
Shivering with anticipation she searched for an answer the the eyes of the deciders
who had meticulously reviewed her with great care but little abandon.
All avoided her eyes, not advertently,
just simply unaware of her own perceived significance,
regardless that the decision  so recently made was a direct judgement of her in particular.
Finally, a court clerk caught eyes with her, by intention rather than chance.
At his approach her chin lifted in question
awaiting his word.
"The judgement was unanimous," he softly spoke.
"They determined you are worthy of love and forgiveness."
She collapsed under the wave of her gratitude
as the clerk purposefully shuffled away.
She was left alone in the corridor,
and as she rose her heart rose too,
while her tears of joy fell to the earth
sprouting freedom with each drop.

You made me hate my blonde hair.
I heard the natives say hair is an extension of the soul
Mine flows like a silk river spilling over my shoulders and trickling down my back tenderly.
Regularly I pile it on my crown in a petite bun that swirls like the shell of a stubborn hermit crab
Or braid it and am suddenly Heidi of the Alps, in the eyes of my mother at least,
and can scale any mountain.
Apollo and Helios command rays be cast through so it glows as would soft fields of  golden prairie grass,
a meadow of protection for the baby blue butterflies I so adore.
You made me hate my blonde hair.
It fell around your face when we kissed under the stars
A curtain shielding us from bleak mortality for a moment, formed by my mighty branches lazily swaying in our exhilarated breaths.
I love to pretend I'm a weeping willow, my favorite, when playing with my sisters' children
Who lay giggling uncontrollably while my long, slender golden foliage wisps around their faces, teasing them into drunkingly reaching up
Playfully tangling their infant hands whose little tugs could never hurt.
It is truly a blessing to shepherd such pure joy to new souls.
You made me hate my blonde hair.
The golden blanket that adheres to my cheeks between sobs
and dries my tears,
That is brightened by sun kisses that stain uneven highlights;
It seems as my soul becomes lighter, my hair follows suit.
You vehemently expressed my utter perfection
beautiful, selfless, true.
To myself I thought,
        Finally! Someone to share this soul with!
But you have a thing about blondes...
You made me hate my blonde hair.