I watched the cold January night shift into the gray of dawn, the bridge looming as a gateway into or out of the city. Perspective creates its own reality. Ice had gathered along the edge of the river, helping chill the wind. Then the sun peeked over the horizon and the world changed. The cold gray bridge transformed into a warm golden orange. It was as if hope and joy were beaming their way into the city. The audacity of that light—the ice remained on the river’s edge, the wind was no less chilly, and yet I basked in the illusion of warmth.