An evening under the lights of the sky
September made a grand entrance yesterday, taking over from the fading summer.
It was late evening. Every night, the last thing I do before going upstairs to bed is lock the front door. I opened the door, stood for a moment on the porch, breathing in the crisp autumn evening, and thought about how quickly the nights are growing darker. The first stars had just begun to sprinkle across the deep blue sky.
There was light shining from behind the trees. My city-trained brain immediately interpreted it as a streetlight—completely normal, right? But wait, we don’t have streetlights here. So, what was it? I peeked farther into the forest and saw the brightest, golden-yellow moon reflecting on the river, bigger than I had ever seen. It had just risen above the treeline and cast a moonlit path on the mist covering the river.
The scene felt completely surreal.
I grabbed the nearest wool cardigan, lightweight slippers, my camera, and ran to the shore. I was so excited that I stumbled on the wooden steps by the riverbank, cursing my clumsiness. The river looked like something from another world. I know I say that often, but it perfectly describes what I saw.
The moon was moving quickly. A light, drifting mist seemed to hold its glowing presence just above the horizon. The frost was tightening its grip, and the stars twinkled even brighter now against the almost black sky. Clouds moved quickly around the moon, across the entire sky. Wait a minute. Just moments ago, the sky was completely clear, not a cloud in sight. And why are the clouds moving so fast, disappearing, and then almost slithering back into view? This can’t be real!
The northern lights. The first ones this fall. The conditions were perfect: a clear but dark night, the frost tightening, and an empty sky. They danced across the sky, sometimes fading faintly into the horizon, and then suddenly reappearing out of nowhere in the brightest colors and contrasts. Incredibly beautiful.
I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment that I didn’t know what to do. I stood there, mouth open, alone on the misty riverbank, staring upward until my legs almost gave out from losing balance.
The photos turned out okay, but I didn’t have the energy or desire to focus too much on capturing the moment with the camera. I wanted to capture it in myself first. I’m also starting to realize that my old amateur camera just can’t handle low-light photography as well as I’d like. If the northern sky plans to put on more light shows this winter, it might be time to invest in a new camera.
Still, I managed to capture something with both my camera and in my mind, and I’m satisfied. And incredibly happy. And grateful. I can’t believe I’m here, living here, under the northern sky and the northern lights. Wow.
♥: Sanna