The Aurora

He peered into the distance. It was hard to peer at anything in that weather with the furious winds whistling and shooting arrows towards him. But he stood there unperturbed, and from a distance it would have seemed that he was frozen. Frozen in time, as a spectator of that which was spectacular, and a sentinel of that which was serene. Roger was at the North Pole, and he was peering along the tangent at the top of the world.

He was not sure why he was standing there, alone. He had come there in search of supreme solitude, and had found it. And strangely, in the midst of those cold plains of ice, the restless longing in his heart was melting away. He listened to the tales told by the winds, and saw now why the color of peace was white. Here, his existence revealed itself in its purest form. Here, he was unquestioned, unhinged, and unbound. Here he could feel, and he could be.

In that place, there was literally no measure of time, for the sun rose and set only once a year. And when it set, it left behind a sheet of clear ice that glimmered soft and quiet in the fading light. True, it was cold and desolate, but it was also pristinely beautiful and magnificent. When the long night arrived, the empty white land found a companion in the inky black sky. And studded in the blackness were millions of stars, each of which was reflected in the millions of crystals of ice below. Roger watched as the plot unfolded. The white and the black had joined together in celebration and were lit up in shimmering silver.

And that was just the beginning, a modest prelude to an extraordinary story. Then, as if bursting through a dam, came rivers of flowing green light from the sky. The Aurora! The Curtains to the Heavens! The satin drapes of green began covering and uncovering the dark horizon. The performance had begun. Slowly the streams of green merged into a single translucent sheet, and Roger could have sworn that he saw writing on the sheet, a message from beyond his understanding. Then just as the sheet of green was diverging into newer streams, a flood of blue broke into the arena! And the blue playfully swirled around the green, teasing and inviting it to join in. The green obliged, and soon the vista was filled with green and blue spirals, hypnotizing and embracing the entire sky. Roger stood transfixed, his eyes and thoughts held hostage by the mesmerizing display. He was the sole witness to a performance crowned with splendor.

The shifting palette began changing color again. Red, purple and orange accompanied the green and blue to paint the night. A midnight rainbow engulfed the shroud above, and it was dynamic and subtle. Roger saw shapes he had never seen, and which he would never see again. There were castles and mountains, spears and chariots, fountains and roads. And so danced the spirits to some unheard divine music.

No words could describe the beauty in the air that night, no song could sing its praise. Roger stood watching, frozen in time. Eventually, after hours or perhaps even days, the Northern Lights decided to return into the deep darkness. They flickered graciously and slowly exited the stage.

Roger took a deep breath. It was the deepest breath he had ever taken.