An Epochal Performance

We had been grounded all day. The sky was clear but the wind was malicious, obliging our poor float plane to stay tied tightly to the dock. The crew made the most of the day- reviewing footage, filming interviews, organizing data. In the evening, in celebration of Trip’s birthday, we had a camp fire, drank some whiskey, and I made brownies. We were still lounged around the fire at 10 pm, warm and content, when John noticed a strange streak coming from the hilltop and creeping across the sky.

Hypotheses proliferated: it’s the moon’s reflection on water vapor, a very milky milky way,  it’s just a funny shaped cloud, or maybe a UFO! But within moments, a second more defined green streak peered over the hill and all other theories fell away. We were witnessing the legendary Northern Lights.

For some people, the northern lights are as common as fireflies in Virginia. For most people, they are a phenomenon to be savored and cherished. And for a few of us they are an aspiration, a goal to attain. There is something inspirational about witnessing the mystical green lights dancing across the sky, as if the earth is allowing us a brief glimpse into the depth, the complexity, the sensitivity of her soul. It is a display I have sought to witness for many years, waiting patiently for opportunity and serendipity to align.

We stand on the dock, huddled against the wind, eyes trained on the hilltop, mouths wide open. In the time it takes me to blink the colors grow stronger, a new streak appears, the sky lightens. Beside me, John exhales “wow”, his mouth forming the word again and again, his brain involuntarily using the pattern to invent some form of familiarity in the spectrum his eyes assemble. I laugh aloud, a pure sound emanating from my heart and pulsing through my body as I understand that I am realizing one of my life long dreams, and in the most profound way possible: a remote lake on a clear night standing next to my groom.

Trip, ever on task, runs for the camera. In record time, he sets up a time lapse (a camera on a tripod set to take a picture every few seconds, later stitched together into a stunning video), and we stand, toes numb and necks strained, completely captivated by the light show above. The performance lasts a full 30 minutes, an infinite story told in streaks and swirls of green and purple, a truly epochal tale of love and heartbreak, of conflict and resolve, of turmoil and tranquility, of moderation and indulgence, of inequity and balance.

Eventually the sky softens to a grey as the last wisps of green retreat behind the hills. The moon appears brighter as it emerges from a cloud, the stars pop from the recently darkened sky. Instead of seeming inferior in contrast, I feel a stronger admiration and understanding for these nightly ornaments, such essential participants in earth’s infinite story. I go to bed elated, but with just a twinge of sadness; while I had just experienced a truly spectacular and anticipated event, I also acknowledge that I will never again feel the elation of witnessing the northern lights for the first time. John reassures me though- there are plenty more first experiences to have.