race car on a quiet street. When it’s intact, you never see it or think about it.
But when it breaks free of its spot, exhaust gases push it along the pipe and out the back. On the way out it fluffs into those fine, hair-thin silver and gray strands. That’s why it reads as hair to the eye. It’s long, it’s wispy, and it hangs.
It helps to remember what it is not. It isn’t a growth, and it isn’t alive. It’s spun glass fiber, the same general family
