Vancouver is among the most beautiful of cities. It is especially attractive to us eastern Canadians during our long winter months. Of course, it rains a lot there, yet in my judgement that is better than the piles and piles of snow and dangerous icy patches lurking about everywhere east of the Rocky Mountains. Perhaps I’d change my mind were I to live there, but at present it is the closest we have to a civil climate between December and late March.
Autumn can be lovely there. With that in mind, I once went for a brief rest and to visit a long-standing friend.
Given the distances between Ontario/Quebec and Vancouver, we meet seldom, but when we do, our time is usually spent over a lunch of seafood–for which Vancouver is justly famous–bringing ourselves up-to-date.
Thus it was on a fine autumnal day we were heading in his smart, small SUV to catch a lunch at a famous restaurant in Stanley Park. Overlooking the bay, the view is notably lovely, with mountains giving away up the coast to the right and, when it is clear, with those afar off on Vancouver Island. We never made it there for lunch. 
While driving along busy West Georgia Street, in the midst of the usual heavy traffic, a drunk driver collided head-on into us. Thank God, no one was injured. Indeed, had it not been for the skillful driving of my friend, the ending could have been much worse, if not tragic.
As in most car accidents, it happened very quickly. We noticed up ahead this very large expensive SUV in the heavy flow of on-coming traffic travelling at great speed. Suddenly he clipped a van, then sideswiped a car, careened into our lane while glancing off another car, and then came straight at us.
I only remember shouting, “What’s he doing? What’s he doing?” just before his massive SUV slammed into us. Fortunately my friend had had the good sense to stop a second or two before. Thus we were unharmed. Both cars were heavily damaged, needless to say.
The driver was very drunk. Muttering something about having a bad day, he stumbled his way towards the sidewalk through the already heavily-backed up traffic, while shaken but uninjured, we safely crossed as well. Someone dialled 911, and in what seemed like only seconds, both police and ambulance arrived. Oddly, amidst all the commotion, that greatly impressed me, how in such a huge city help could arrive so quickly. 
The police took statements, the drunk driver was eventually taken away in hand-cuffs, and the ambulance attendants carefully questioned us. My age must have concerned them. They checked me over in the ambulance, twice no less.
Now without a vehicle, we gave up on lunch in the park. Instead, we went to a nearby restaurant. There, before tucking into a most delicious meal of fresh seafood, we both–an Anglican priest and a Jesuit–gave thanks for having escaped injury. Oh, yes too, we also prayed for the driver who had caused such mayhem. He might need some extra help while sitting in gaol.
Do miracles really happen? Well, it did seem so on one extra beautiful day in Vancouver.