My mother's mink

I have my mother's full length mink coat hanging in my closet. It is probably about 20 years old, and a beautiful deep black. It has been a point of conversation over the years between my mother and us girls. My mother has a large amount of joie, and the coat was one of those moments when temptation overrode practicality. I wore the coat, for the first time, to a fancy party last very cold and icy night. My friend wrecked her car while driving us to the party, due to the ice on the road. After the accident protocols were finished, we walked out into the snowy street, police lights flashing and flares burning behind us, to our waiting ride. I felt warm and wonderful, wrapped in black fur, almost glamorous, emerging from what could have been horror but was not. The joie and immense gratitude settled into my spirit as we drove on to the party. I wonder what I have been missing all these years, living in a tight little circle of duty and it's residual anxiety. This joie, and the gratitude that comes with it, can define a life that is lived to the uttermost. I have a constant reminder of this in my closet, waiting for the next adventure.