Happy last day of 2022. It’s been a hell of a year, hasn’t it? If you’re reading this, you’ve survived it. Well done, you!

Today I’m not writing about the highs and lows and all that predictable stuff, but on miracles and wonders.

I often say I’m a sceptical old hack but if you know me, you’ll have cottoned on to the fact that sometimes I do take time to revel in the marvels of the little things.

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Like many people, as I get older, they seem to matter more. Here’s what I mean. The other day I came across a surprisingly beautiful snake.

It was a sweltering day and I’d gone to the pool to see why the creepy was sulking again.

As I approached the pool net, a green shade cloth, one just designed to keep leaves out, I saw a slight quiver on it.

There, resting on top of the shade cloth floating on the pool’s surface, was a sizable spotted bush snake, blending in beautifully.

I know they’re harmless and snakes don’t scare me anyway, so I spent a good while just watching it watching me, appreciating its beauty and form.

The snake’s presence there means we’re doing something right to attract nature and keep her marvels close by.

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It was an unexpected moment of tranquility and what could be more welcome?

Then, that night, the guy and I were taking a dusk wander around the front garden. It’s the ultimate work wind-down.

We smell the roses and remark on the new growth on the various plants we have among our shrubs, blooming flowers and conglomerate beds.

We spend moments voicing our awe at how clever we are to have garnered such great cooperation from mother nature.

Alternately, we bemoan how she must despise us to make my sister’s hollyhocks bloom so much better than mine, our daughter’s roses grow so much higher or let the neglected lilies over the road blossom so much more profusely than our pampered ones.

We watch the sun set gently over our roof and it seems like our senses are heightened by the loveliness of it all after a day down the mine at work.

Sometimes we amble around together or else he’ll go off in one direction and I go in another. You can easily lose yourself in your thoughts in the garden. It’s one of the best places to do so.

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So, the other night we were ambling separately together in the front, when he ruptured my thoughts, calling out across the lawn, “Hey, look at this!” “What?” He was pointing to an other-worldly, luminous green light which flared out from next to our beautiful purple clematis.

I honestly thought he was pranking me. It was like a piece of glowing radioactive waste of the ilk that Homer Simpson used to play with. “Is it one of your new LEDs?” I asked. “Nope.” I didn’t really believe him.

We went closer and it became clear that the light was emanating from three distinct bands.

I grabbed my cell phone and shone the torch on the source and, behold, there was a big fat grub-like creature clinging to a piece of concrete. It was waving its butt around from which the most magical light beamed forth.

A glow worm! It’s the first time I remember seeing one. I remember seeing fireflies, but my experience of glow worms so far had been a child’s rhyme which I’ve had stuck in my head since the encounter (I wish I was a glow worm, a glow worm’s never glum, how can you be unhappy when the sun shines out of your … etc).

 I’ve always wished I could see one. During lockdown load shedding, the guy and I saw a single firefly and it lit up our world like a beacon of hope in that profoundly dark moment.

The next day, we saw that the glow worm had disappeared, probably into a crevice between two concrete blocks but, as if on cue, after dusk, there we saw her bright green light again. We watched her waving around calling out for some company for some time. And then he approached.

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A beetle-like bug sidled up to her and the next thing he crawled onto her. I was concerned. Was he eating her.

What did he want with her? Should I take it off? I asked the guy but, after some discussion, we agreed that nature must take its course, whatever the outcome.

 As I moved my cellphone light in closer, I realised what was happening. It was mating with her. Seeing a glow worm was incredible.

To see the firefly being attracted by her beam of light and then mating with her was a miracle (just a note to dubious readers; it was confirmed by our obliging resident expert, Dr Jason Londt, that it was indeed a glow worm and firefly we saw after I sent him the videos I took).

The last happy discovery was one about a month-and-half back now. After a wet spell, we found a crop of bird’s nest mushrooms in the garden.

I’d read about them before, so I instantly recognised them. They’re much smaller than I’d imagined but they look just like a miniature birds nest with eggs nestling in it.

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It was so interesting to see and, again, so unexpected. Keep your eyes open for miracles. Sometimes we find them in the dark, in spaces we never thought to look.

We need each one we can find and when they show themselves we must celebrate them, dwell on the wonder of them and keep them close. Here’s to a wonderful 2023 you lot.

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