A stargazing friend reached out at just the right moment. “Look up. Right now, west to north.” I did. And so began only the second time I’ve witnessed the Northern Lights painting across the canvas of night sky. This time, shrouded by urban junk light, imperceptible to the naked eye though visible through the camera lens. Pure magic.
My first sighting was over 40 years ago from a pier upon a desolate pond in Maine. Alone, gazing upwards, enchanted by the color swirl across the the velvet black of night. Time stood still. I stayed in that cosmic dance until I scared myself. “What if these aren’t the Northern Lights, but some other undefinable force?” I scared myself off that pier to seek refuge in the rustic cabin, sans water and electricity, where the young campers in my charge slept peacefully. The light show now blocked by the wooden roof overhead, I pondered what I just willfully left behind.
I ever regretted cutting short that dance with the magnificent Aurora Borealis. I too was young and swayed by invisible fear.
2 images above by stargazer Craig Bernier 2024
In my thrill the other night when my friend led my gaze upward west to north, I shared news of that first siting. I told him that experience led to my first published poem as a young poet. That title was—wait for it—"Northern Lights."
He said “Of course it was.”
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