Most mornings these days, I lament that it is pitch black when I get up. Late afternoon, I regret needing to turn on the lights while making supper. But not Sunday night. On a zoom webinar facing the water, I saw the first white edge of the moon creep up into the sky over the water. A shining silver line skimmed the waves right toward me. When I looked again, black bands of cloud intersected with the bright disk, and soon it slipped behind the clouds. But, in the dark sky, I had seen its shining rise.

Later, the moon climbed above the clouds, again laying that path across the water, brightening sky and earth. The night felt luminous, welcoming.

As the moon rose higher, the trees cast pale shadows on the ground. Moon shadows are a gentle cousin of day shadows, a soft grey, more visible when the ground is covered with snow. Sometimes in the early hours of the morning, I'll see the shadow of the house from our bedroom window and know the moon still shines. I'll often take the time to catch a glimpse of the white circle before in sets behind the escarpment

By Tuesday morning, the ground was a blanket of white. Looking outside before turning on the lights of the house, the ground looked bright even though not a star could be seen and the moon was hidden in the heavy cloud cover that brought the snow.

Night is never as dark in winter. Every speck of light is reflected off the ground. On a bright day, sunshine on snow can blind us. On a blustery day, blowing snow can hide the world from us. But when the night is quiet, snow brings a gentle brilliance to the world.

Walking in town, street lights define circles of brightness that fade and then grow and fade again until you step into the circle of the next light. Porch lights on houses show where to turn in, what steps to climb to enter a house. Snow reflects these lights.

In this holiday season, where lights are strung on trees that are then covered with snow, colour shines through the white blanket. Along the Festival of Northern Lights pathways, snow picks up hints of these colourful displays.

It is different out of town. Walking from the house to the barn in winter to check on a baby lamb, I always brought a flashlight. But in winter, I hardly needed it. Even though no lights shone on that side of the house, even though the barn windows were covered to keep the wind out, still the snow had a brightness to it. I always wondered what light it found to reflect.

Those nights, if there were no clouds, the sky was brilliant as well. The clear, cold air let the stars shine bright, not only above me, but on all sides, from horizon to horizon. The Milky Way marked in the sky a path parallel to the one I walked. Many nights, after a drive marked by jarring headlights shining in my eyes, I would arrive home, turn off the car, and step into a shining dome of stars.  

So yes, it is true that the days are short. I have to make sure I turn on the outside lights if I go out late in the afternoon. The nights are long. Outside work has to be finished before supper, can't start until long after breakfast. Driving in the dark can be challenging. But when I slow down, when I take time, I recognize the gifts that these long dark nights provide.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway