14 December 2024 – Search for “light in the darkness” quotes (whether through AI or your own adorably old-fashioned skills) and you’ll find this concept transcends time, place, culture and activity. It is one of the great human concerns, one of our core needs and comforts.

As we approach Winter Solstice, here in the Northern Hemisphere, I am particularly alert to the absence of light.

And to its presence.

Two examples, both unexpected.

The Banner

Yesterday, by 5:30 pm, the sky has long been fully dark. I walk toward Ray Saunders’ local clock, our Mount Pleasant clock, and it sparkles with lights. Well, I know about that. I’ve already shown you the clock by night. Yesterday, for the first time, I notice the banners by night.

Remember the banner I included, in my tribute to Raymond Saunders, horologist? This one…

Now look at one of these banners, by night.

Light in the Darkness.

The Angel

I don’t go around expecting angels. Especially not today, late afternoon, standing slightly dazed in a London Drugs check-out line. The young woman in front of me is just part of the context: mid-20s perhaps, slightly chubby, tattoo’ed & lip-pierced & leather-jacketed, and somehow wrapped in friendly calm rather than line-up boredom.

Suddenly a clerk mutters an apology and reaches around me to hand her a neat oval cylinder. “I found one!” she exclaims. The young woman shines with joy. “Oh, this is wonderful! Thank you!” she cries and clips the case to a ring on her jacket.

I cock my head. She hasn’t paid for it. And she’s not being furtive about it — she’s about to pay for something else, but this item, she has simply appropriated. She sees me looking at her, and smiles.

So I ask. And she explains.

“It’s narcan.” I am still puzzled. “For drug overdoses.”

Now I understand, and my next question is obvious: “Do you do street patrols? Alley patrols?” She gives a self-deprecating little shake of the head. “No, no. But I grew up in East Van, I live in East Van, so I always carry a kit, you know? Today I came out without one. I’m so glad she found one for me — I don’t like not being ready.”

Later, at home, I look it up. I learn narcan = Naloxone = an injectable antidote for opioid drug poisoning. In 2012, the British Columbia Centre for Disease Control launched its Take Home Naloxone Program, which provides training and kits via drug stores and other distribution centres province-wide. The kits are available without prescription, and are free to “people at risk of an opioid drug poisoning and people likely to witness and respond to a drug poisoning.”

Standing there in the drug store, I don’t know about this program. But I do know the importance of what this young woman has taken upon herself to do, as part of her daily routine.

She’s turning to go, and I tap her arm. “I don’t believe in angels,” I begin, “not in ethereal beings. But people like you… you’re my idea of angels.”

She gives a little whufff of amazement, and then says, “Could I hug you?”

We hug.

Light in the darkness.