I resent the idea of winter and winter commutes, of the long meandering days that start and end in darkness. But tonight, stepping into the cold rain and being greeted by the warm yellow ocean of Christmas lights and by female voice singing Wicked Games somewhere on the corner near the Hudson Bay Company flagship store, the tired and light-dependent creature that I am, I felt touched by grace.

By the time I got home, the rain turned into timid snow that melted before it touched the ground, as if it hadn’t quite decided what it wanted to be. As if turning water into snow was a miracle this new winter hasn’t yet mastered. Still, I stopped in the middle of the empty street, right beneath a street light, lifted my face and looked at the snow. A few hundred meters further, some wet naked tree branches formed a kind of halo around another street light and I stood for some time, amazed, staring at this perfect spiral shape and wondering if it was always there, hidden in plain sight, or was conjured on this very night out of darkness, electric light, end-of-year sadness and first snow.

Juniper has the sweetest way of winking with her both eyes that makes her look a little like a kind owl and makes me feel safe and accepted when she winks at me across the table. She told me today something she had learned from her Buddhist teacher: that miracles are simply a way of noticing what other people miss. Amen to that.