A Trick of the Light

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Snow sifts down from the sky in light flakes, a fine dusting of powdered sugar that begins to melt almost as soon as it reaches the ground. Still, it is snowing!— a rare occurrence in Berkeley, so even this one glimpse is exhilarating. I’m walking in the hills just before dark, as lights come on in the houses around me. The stucco cottage on the corner is festooned with colored lights and pinecone wreaths; next-door, a gaudy procession of painted reindeer marches across the lawn. Though the holidays are still a couple of weeks away, the chilled air feels charged and enticing.

Maybe the magic is back. For me, the past year was one of intense struggle, of proceeding in a dogged one-foot-in-front-of-theother fashion, a year punctuated by losses and mishaps. A friend died, a pet died. I fell through my deck when a board snapped, a perfect metaphor for the way I was already feeling. My elderly Honda gave out and had to be towed from a concert in another town, and when I got home the roof was leaking into the kitchen. Floor to ceiling, everything seems fragile now. I’m grateful for an interlude from the string of disasters.

Yesterday I walked in the woods near the reservoir in the fading winter light. In a secluded spot near the main trail, I was startled to come upon a fully decorated fir tree tucked in amidst its plain neighbors. I wondered who had spent the time packing up these decorations to bring to the woods, who had taken care to adorn this one tree so majestically with the miniature drummers, bears, painted trains and bells that hung among the pine needles. Glass orbs glowed silver or gold from every branch, and one little lopsided star winked down from the highest point. A finch alighted next to it for an instant before swooping off to a nearby oak.

On days like this, I try to remember that just the smallest handful of faith might be enough. The universe is good at pulling rabbits out of hats. I think back to a December night a couple of years ago during a winter that felt increasingly stressful and devoid of enchantment. I went by myself to a theater production downtown, only because someone had given me a free ticket. I was dubious: the show, Aurélia’s Oratorio, was one I knew nothing about and the title sounded highbrow and boring.