A Black woman, out and about, with errands to run in Copenhagen, Denmark, shivered a bit under her short-length warm coat. It was black, yet decorated like a chalk board with unusual colored-stripes, traveling loops, and spirals, suggesting the first letter of her name. This assertion of Self was antithesis to the repeating black motif of the bundled passersby in their long, cloth and leather coats, some ribbed, a few jackets. All seemed impervious to the teasing cold breeze and waspish rain. Occasionally, genderless people–in close-fitting , fiber-stuffed coats, wearing both blue jeans and ankle high black boots, with matching black gloves– punctured the lines of the passing mass, their heads encircled by hoodies of wirery animal hair. The cold rain of January slid beneath their clothing as it did the winter wear of the Black woman who also wore a brightly colored knit cap and torkelader. The droplets stung like alcohol on an open scratch.
The Black woman peeked out from beneath her throat and nose wrap, eyes seeking a common connection between herself and any other of these many people, who like her, were feeling the rain, suffering the elements for cause on a winter’s day. No eyes met hers, no empathy between the passing walkers. Each to her or his own business. Each to the private self, to winter’s dark hedgemony.
Yet, a wayward sight comforts her, makes her smile, keeps her company as she hurries on, past two weathered dames –both privileged, among elders and youth, among the driven motley stream. As if on runway–wearing old seasons of full length saga mink which has been treated against water–, they walk self-contained beneath umbrellas sustained by an insistent way of life.