I see them stare back at me, mine in shape and definition. An odd realization, the shock of this arbitrary line passed from the dead. Three generations it spans. Each eyebrow the same in arch and style, color too. What happened to the genetic lottery draw? Do living cells dividing have a say? Were these wriggling hairs destined to be? Reminders of those gone before, the ghosts of yesterday can still be found above our eyes. No other shape can break this mold. I am thankful they are not too thick, too thin or unibrow and thankful for Family resemblances.