I love this image The Dark Side of Horse with a wild, untidy mane by barnyardbabe.

The mane of my husband's arabian horse hangs well below her neck, and it's lustrous, inky black. I'm happy with the growth this year of Toby's unruly mane. The percheron's forelock has gotten quite long, almost covering the crescent on his forehead, and I think if the trend continues, he will have quite impressive locks. I've almost tamed it to lay all on one side, but it's been a constant project. I continue to be surprised at the luxurious mane of our quarterhorse mare. It grows like weeds, I swear, and will soon be as long as the arabian's. She nuzzles me when I comb it out. Caprichosa's mane is long too, and looks like snow after a good washing. Now, as for the appaloosa horse Teyla, what can I say? The appaloosa has a crazy shock of salt and pepper along the length of her neck, but her tail nearly reaches the ground. My other appaloosa mare had a little stub of a tail, nothing like this. With her Navajo brand on one shoulder, I suspect Teyla's ancestry includes some mustang. She is built like those small wild horses.

Since I don't show, I can let my horse's manes grow wild.

My grandma Jessie had shining silver hair down to her waist. I used to braid it for her when I was a girl. I am curious about women who cut off their hair when they reach a certain age, as if it's somehow more appropriate or sensible. I see them at the grocery store, shorn like sheep almost. This is a bit of a personal issue for me. I cut my hair off once in college on a whim, and cried for days after. My mother finally gave up on talking me into cutting mine off into what she refers to as a "classic bob" which somehow or other in her estimation would make my "look" more "complete". Maybe if I were still living on the east coast and wearing a blue, black or gray suit to work every day with uber sensible pumps, which hasn't been my life for decades. But then again I doubt it.

Now I'm really not dissing bobs or short hair, it's just not for me. If I could have looked like, say, Audrey Hepburn in her short haircut framing that angelic face, well, then, I would have kept the style I tried in college.

It may be the Sampson and Delilah thing. If I cut off my hair, even with its grays, then I lose my mythical power? Is it really my glory, like some Bible prophet wrote? And what is so dark and terrifying to some about long locks that they stipulate that it must be covered? Is it a form of envy?

I remember from some twenty years ago admiring a certain young man every single morning on the subway from Boston's Back Bay to the Financial District. He had cascades of honey brown hair down to his waist. And he wore it loose. No ponytail. I'm talking hair that most women would die for. Although there was nothing girly about this guy. Believe me, female hearts were pounding. And probably some male ones too. It was like being in the presence of a golden-maned lion in an impeccable Italian suit every morning on the Green Line.

I hope I'm not the only one who stared. Well, actually, I wasn't that rude. I suppose I peered furtively around the edges of the Boston Globe and never dared to breathe a word in his direction.

I love seeing in Santa Fe the grandmothers who don't look anything like grandmothers with their silver hair rippling down their back beneath the brim of a cowboy hat. The crows feet that wrinkle at the corners of their eyes when they smile.

I see that my horses' manes are almost in dredlocks this morning when I go down to feed, as it's been raining. All day yesterday. All last night. The whole week before. Thanks to our brief monsoon season and the hurricane down south. I will very much enjoy combing them out.