I sometimes dream about meeting up with an old friend with a grey beard now. Also, yesterday at work the students discussed the snow-capped Himalayas and how difficult it would be to survive up there unless you went to live with the Yeti and learned to adapt to such a hostile environment, so, accordingly, I can’t help but wonder if there’s some insight to be garnered from the fact that in both instances shaggy grey hair seemed to rule my consciousness like the emperor of an ancient kingdom. Then, last night I watched the movie “Hercules” and noticed John Hurt was sporting a nice one. In addition, I’m growing a salt and pepper beard as we speak, allowing the neck line to naturally fill in and drop, so maybe I’m really talking about myself right now and all these other things are proxy for how I feel about me. Now that I think about it a student yesterday did try to guess my age and when he said I looked twenty years younger than I am and that I had ten years on his father, a part of me, while flattered, did feel a bit lost to time. Then again, maybe the whole going gray thing is about my worrying about how I seem to be fading more and more now into the snow of the everyday I’m thinking it won’t be long now I’ll be able to stand right out in the open and not have to hide at all in order to not be seen. Except I can also hear in my head the voice of a girlfriend from two decades ago telling me my beard makes me look distinguished, which would seem to fly in the face of the whole disappearing thing. Actually, my favorite cat and probably best friend of all time was a shaggy and grey Maine Coon I named Corky, so could it be I’m craving the company of a friend? I still remember every day after school he’d come trotting down the street to meet me, and drape his soft and grey body across my face. Maybe it’s because of this that I can now imagine my own salt and pepper beard trotting down the street to meet me after a long day, and how I know that presently, I’m the pet I most want to come home to.