Freedom

The Freedom arrived by way of a long day and a stubborn wrist.

Not all revelations come on daring adventures at sea. Some arrive in the seventh haircut, when the hand has begun its quiet negotiations with the thumb, the wrist has its own opinion, and a tool that felt perfectly acceptable at ten in the morning has grown strangely argumentative by three.

Then this.

The Freedom has a swivel thumb, yes, though that phrase does not quite prepare you for the civility of it. After a few clean passes, one begins to suspect the shear may have been designed by someone who had actually spent time holding one.

Its temperament is broad and unusually well mannered. Wet hair, dry hair, general cutting, long layers, blunt work... the thousand ordinary cuts that make up a real day behind the chair.

A jack of all trades, certainly, though that phrase usually belongs to things that have learned to do many jobs adequately. The Freedom does them with a little style.

By late afternoon, when lesser shears have begun to reveal their selfishness, the Freedom is still agreeable company.

A rare trait in steel.

And perhaps the best definition of freedom anyone has managed in a while.