SUNDAY BEST

I suppose most folks make an effort on Easter Sunday to not look like a completely run-down dirty shame. It is a day, much like Kentucky Derby day, when in fact the sartorial gods make extraordinary allowances for grandeur. So it wasn't such a surprise that I spotted what looked like a matriarch of Chinese royalty on the Grand Street subway platform that afternoon.

After the initial shock and awe of seeing her lush Kelly-green fur coat, I wondered what shade of rouge she had smeared on her Clara Bow lips. This dame meant business. Who knows what she had concealed within the deep recesses of that swag? A flask of Baijiu? A pearl encrusted compact for impromptu face powdering? Several tiny clementines with the leaves attached? I thought to ask to take her picture but became way too shy in the presence of such extraordinary pomp and fluff.

When the train arrived she floated over to an empty seat near a window to stare out into the dark tunnels between stations along the way- the shadows, graffiti, haphazardly arranged lights hanging from thick dusty cords. And somehow the seat next to her was empty. As she lost herself in the window view I got a quick snap of her coat with its rolling hills and valleys of shiny green fur like waves of grass in the countryside. Spring had sprung.