AS I REMEMBER

 
     I remember sliding my fingers on his hair. It had a silky texture and it felt warm.
I thought it felt like a warm pavlova just out of the oven on a Christmas day.
It was soft to the touch, soft as cotton, a field of cotton. If you have ever seen one,
you know that it looks like hundreds and hundreds of little white heads snuggling together on a sunny day.
I buried my face in his hair, and it had a beautiful smell, not of cotton, but the smell of Autumn.
The in-between smell, when it is no longer summer but not winter just yet,
and that fragrance lingered long after my head departed from those silver threads.
It looked smart too! The smartness of an old book sitting on the mantelpiece.
I was only 8 years old, and thought his hair looked like a white fragrant Autumn wave
that had been adorning his head since the dinosaurs roamed the earth.
When he laughed, the wave rocked back and forth, and then his entire head looked very smart.
     I loved running my fingers through my Grandfather’s white hair.