Southern Greenland, October 8th: Dances with lights

Vicou the Sea Gypsy
Nov 1, 2018
2 min read

I think I might become that really annoying guy … that even more annoying guy: you meet him at a party, he is nice and interesting until the moment he says: “If you haven't sailed in the Arctic Circle under northern lights, you haven't really lived.” And that's it, you immediately hate that guy.

I will never say something as cliché (again), however I would like to share to the best of my ability the magic of northern lights.

It starts with a greenish hue, almost white, as if a very pale cloud or the ghost of an old god is drifting in front of the star-freckled night sky. Ever so slowly the ectoplasm becomes more and more tangible and you almost miss the moment when the faint glimmer of hope in your heart becomes a surge of joy, as it is indeed northern lights.

The lower edge becomes sharper, the colour becomes a beautiful and indescribable variation of greens. Vivid, bright, luminous. Your entire world glows under this mystical celestial aura.

You cannot help but smile, an easy spontaneous smile of awe and joy at this gift from nature, this momentary and privileged wave from the gods.

But it hasn't started yet.

Someone around you notices it … and you see it, the flicker, the wavy and lazy movement of a ribbon flying in the wind. But in a crescendo of light the movements grow sharper, more erratic, like a pulse, almost a vibration, but not quite. The northern lights dance and all you can do is take it in, take it all in, as they continue their sensual and arrhythmic ode to life.

Fifty shades of green become purple, red, gold and blue.

As fast as they came, they go.

But they do not take anything, they silently wave and flicker one last time before becoming the ghost of a forgotten god, one who loved us.

In minutes, they give everything, they show the truth, they bless the ones that know to look up and dream to the stars.