I Want to See the Northern Lights
Before light pollution was so dominant, I saw the Northern lights in a metro park just 25 miles up from my now urban hood.
The display covered all of the northern sky, in rippling curtains of green and red. I wept, unexpectedly shocked by it's beauty. It was so [i]silent,[/i] this blast of light. You'd think it would have a sound, a hum, a thunder of noise, a high-pitched chiming, something aural, but not to my ears.
I saw a documentary where native folks in the high north and southern countries claim they've been able to hear the aurora, and scientists have pointed their equipment at it to try to discern, with some success, that the aurora does indeed emit a sound.
I didn't hear it, but it resonated in my heart.
The display covered all of the northern sky, in rippling curtains of green and red. I wept, unexpectedly shocked by it's beauty. It was so [i]silent,[/i] this blast of light. You'd think it would have a sound, a hum, a thunder of noise, a high-pitched chiming, something aural, but not to my ears.
I saw a documentary where native folks in the high north and southern countries claim they've been able to hear the aurora, and scientists have pointed their equipment at it to try to discern, with some success, that the aurora does indeed emit a sound.
I didn't hear it, but it resonated in my heart.
