{from December 2016} Last night, there is a man shouting in the parking lot of the gas station. I keep my hand on the nozzle and crane my neck to see in the dark — is he calling for a dog? Bridget. Bridget! A pale-faced woman in a worn black winter coat finally shuffles toward him from the opposite direction. They confer under the whitewash of lights and then go inside the convenience mart to buy something. I go in, too, and stand in line with a soda. The tall man in front of me has a large stain on one leg of his pants. He is clutching a small bottle of ketchup, a loaf of bread, and a few other food items I cannot see. The clerk kindly offers to pay the five cents so the guy can have a bag to carry his groceries. Thanks, man, says the tall guy. That really makes it easier to get home. He wants to keep talking, he seems hungry to tell a story about paying it forward, but the clerk has turned away and now asks me if the overlooked nickel on the countertop is mine. Nope, it isn’t, I say, smiling.

Tonight, I go to the three grocery stores: Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, Hannaford. Three different tribes. Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods are bustling, mad, crawling with people. It seems like every woman I see in Whole Foods has evening makeup and salon-fresh hair. The lines for the cash registers stretch down the aisles. People shift from foot to foot, glancing at iPhones, looking over the things piled in their carts. A blond-haired woman carrying an enormous stuffed giraffe in her arms stands behind me and smiles a little smile at everyone smiling at her. Some lucky child is going to go bananas on Christmas morning.

At Hannaford, there is a whiff of forlornness. The woman gathering carts stands just inside the automatic doors and lets out a big whoop to shake off the cold of the parking lot. I glide up and down a few empty aisles, checking my handwritten list, and pass a gray-haired man guiding a large cart slowly around a corner. A jar of pickles is the lone occupant of the top tray of his carriage. He appears lost in thought. He may not have shaved this morning.

I walk to my car, thinking that I have so much. So much. More than I need. Maybe I’ll find a magic wand in this parking lot, underneath the dirty slush and grocery cart tracks. Maybe at first I’ll think it’s glinting ice, but when I stop and look closer, I’ll see it’s an honest-to-goodness crystal wand. I’ll pick it up, take a deep breath, close my eyes, and raise my arm in a wide, wide arc. I’ll sweep away the dark, and loneliness. I’ll say, Come in, you magnificent light.