She moves at her own pace, this old soul. Despite all of the chaos and cacophony ginned up by the crowds of big ol’ lumbering grown folks surrounding her, and while completely ignoring her mother’s outstretched hand, she walks slowly along... carefully considering each little step, and perhaps weighing the pros and cons of civil disobedience at large.
Her coat, which reminds me of impeccable classic 50s style, simply augments the pensive nature of her disposition. Audrey Hepburn might have worn such a garment, I think.
We have something in common, this little Queen and I. We’re both in the throes of a protest march, but neither of us is actually protesting. I am ever “one eye open” and peering through a tiny diopter to capture what I believe will tell a story. My fellow traveler and muse is advancing at a glacial pace, detached and contemplative, and deliberately just out of reach of the woman calling to her.
Her defiance seems fitting.
On this day and all over this planet women are shouting, in no uncertain terms, that the decisions which govern their lives will not be made by committee, or by a bloated tyrant of diminutive intellect. They are busy making it perfectly clear that they will not be subjugated, dictated to, or driven backward in time.
It would appear that this second coming of Rosa Parks has decided to embody every bit of that Declaration of Independence.
I believe many great women begin this way, but judging from the look on her mother’s face, I think she may want to save this exercise in free will for another time.
-Women's March Against Trump | 21.January.2017