All is not calm; all is not bright

Two winters ago, on the third Sunday of Advent, Chicago was decorated by a beautiful blanket of snow as folks ventured out to work, brunch, shopping or houses of worship. The sideways-blowing snow and icy white-capped waves of Lake Michigan shimmered. Cars and busses drove slower than usual, but nobody seemed to mind.

It was a Winter Wonderland along the Gold Coast and Magnificent Mile, posh areas north of downtown. Yet the scene was even more serene on the South Side, sans commercial retailers and Trump Tower-level wealth. The streets, typically filled with teenagers, were vacant and still. The sidewalks, often lit with gunfire, were sparkling with snow.

There was no noise. There were no signs of gangs or drugs or violence, of darkness or despair, of broken homes or unemployment. There was only the soft blanket of peace.