The Perfidy of Things

Abstract

Among the tumble of objects that accrued to her estate, my mother's pride had been her blush-dyed black cross mink coat. It is a handsome thing, blond laced with silver, the two contrasting tones teased into relationship by thin strands of black. To see it in the wild, as the pelt of a wild thing, say, you'd be struck as if by the tresses of an angel. It is full length, which in my mother's case, shrinking as she did in her later years, meant floor length. It is cut in a classic style. Supple, while very thick, the coat could pass as practical, something that would get you through a deep and endless Arctic winter.