Northern Lights

A few nights ago it was very clear and moonless, and from my back porch I watched the aurora borealis weave its way back and forth across the dark heavens. This particular night they looked like the hem of some spectral robe as its wearer traversed the backdrop of an ink-black stage bespattered with a few stars. Not too colourful this time, but I was able to make out faint cotton candy shades of green and pink. They are notoriously difficult to photograph, so I am not able to offer you a picture of what I saw.

You would think that the Northern Lights would become mundane to someone living in the Arctic, but they are relatively rare. The night skies are frequently cloud-covered or hazy, obscuring these dancing lights from view. The half of the lunar cycle surrounding the full moon also banishes them, as the ephemeral nature of these nocturnal lights cannot compete with the strong glow of the moon. And as we move ever closer towards the night-bright Arctic summer, the sun dismantles the jet black backdrop required to view them.

The arsaniit, as they are called in Inuttitut, are best viewed far away from the lights of the community, and it is out on the land on those rare cloudfree, moonless lights of early fall or late winter that their majesty can be best appreciated. Away from human settlement, the aurora borealis are not ashamed to show off their full palette of colours, hues and tints. Their dance becomes more animated as well, and sometimes I've been struck by the crazy notion that they are rushing towards me, tumbling down from the skies. I am not alone in this weird sensation - Inuit legend has it that the arsaniit reach down from the skies and try to decapitate unfortunate noctural travellers.

Alone and far from home, the Northern Lights become almost malevolent and with sinister intention. They are aware of your presence and isolation, standing still as you gaze upon them but quickly darting around whenever you avert your eyes. Insanely, but true, they will dance if you whistle at them, and you can actually hear the rustling of their ephemeral garments as they move back and forth to your whistled urgings. No one has ever been able to make a recording of these soft sounds. But then, being alone you can imagine all sorts of things.

One of the things I imagine is that you can peer up the skirts of the these not quite solid celestial beings whirling overhead, but you can never see deep enough to learn their secrets. So we must content ourselves to stare, rapt but ignorant, at their horrible luminescent beauty.