When the grey roots of mama's hair began to show, she took to wearing a vibrant headscarf. She looked beautiful every day, the breeze billowing the ends of the long silk as if they were the ribbons of a kite.
My grandmother would wear a headscarf in blues that reminded me of the ocean. How it complimented her Celtic paleness, those once brown curls turned silver-white.
I snuggled into my black headscarf and let my eyes rest. It was as comforting as a warm duvet at sunrise.
I'm not sure what the difference is between the headscarf, hoodie or baseball cap, except in style. For they give similar protections from sun, wind and rain. The differences I see are in the femininity of the first and the gender neutrality of the other two.
These headscarfs are my saviours on each and every day; no matter what my hair is doing they bring a brightness more than make-up alone could achieve.
Her headscarf moved in the wind; it was pretty as the autumn leaves and as soft as a spring petal. When she smiled it was with the warmth of the sun, as if her entire self had a way of blossoming.
The brightness of the headscarf accentuated the beauty of her brown skin. Sometimes she would look my way with eyes as soulful and deep as any. Between the silk she wore upon her head and her face, she was the more beautiful.
The headscarf was the perfect compliment to her outfit, neither pastel nor flamboyant. She was always in colours that reminded me of spring flowers, sweet and strong.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.