I left my apartment at dawn this morning–which isn’t that impressive because the sun takes its sweet time getting up these early winter mornings. I caught a glimpse of glowing pink through the window at the end of the hall of my third floor, and walked past the exit door to investigate. That’s when my first Christmas Eve miracle occurred. Spilled softly all over the horizon was the most perfect Monet sky in sharp pinks and dark blues. Breaking the horizon like black teeth were the jagged Gothic towers of Yale, the Green’s steeples, and the pointed top of the Financial Building, all growing up from the skeleton treetops at the base of the scene.

I drew in a long breath to pull that picture into my lungs who would transfer it into my blood. When I stepped out into the biting cold, I felt the sky rushing into my fingertips.

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