HaGgard into the Mist

Unkempt and Disheveled I emerge from my Hot shower looking like an African version of the Irish Banshee. If I stopped coloring my wild woolly riotous mane it’s changing vivid Red hues it would regress to its natural white state and along with accompanying screams from my arthritic joints I could become the daytime version of the Wailing Woman spirit. With every crack, creak, pop and snap of pain points in back, knees and ankles I shamble my way towards Cronehood. Aging rapidly before my time hobbling into the oncoming week which slams into me like a tractor trailer truck on a dark misty slick road. I’d do well as one of many Female apparitions in Shakespeare’s plays. Whose dreams shall I haunt tonight?