There is miracle in this: that each year ends with purpose. After drift and random daytimes, December draws together all the cycles, and redirects our energies into displays of a more definite meaning. See: the jostle of shelves and streets, swirling reflections one of another, colours surreal and celebratory of every conceivable choice, spun out in lunatic luxury; boxes and buyers, business and busyness, ebullient images one of the other; sidewalks and store displays, cheerful and chattering; everywhere everything singing and hurrying, crepe paper crackling, shopping bags crumpling, queued shoppers balancing parcels and purchases, choices of luxuries from counters celebratory, from shelves full of busyness, chooser and chosen fitting reflections one of the other; reflections of fitting one to the other, shopping bags blithering carols and crepe. And, yet, there is miracle, in that we call these goods, miracle in the yearend goodness of purpose, in the myriad goods and hurrying multitude, in the choice, the fitting, and the reflection: there is miracle in this, and wonder. For Gilbert Williams, extraordinary teacher, extraordinary man.