Beyond
The moon was hidden that night and our senses were sharper as a result. With every step we took we felt the spongy ground beneath our feet give and spring back. We concentrated on listening to the cold air around us but heard only ducks splashing across the dark lake and wolves howling in the distant mountains. Our torches were held out in front of us, scanning the ground for wayward branches or hidden hillocks that might trip us up. Our guide led us from the soft grass to a wooden pontoon, its old beams just visible in the circular sweep of the torch beam.
In the distance an orange glow gave away the westerly direction of the city. Above it the stars arranged themselves in groups against the inky sky to watch the coming spectacle. I pulled my woolly hat further down over my ears as the men set up their cameras. In the north I could see a faint patch of pale green hanging over the mountains, like a smudge on an otherwise clean window.
The northern lights are the result of collisions between electrically charged particles from the sun that enter the earth's atmosphere. Seeing them is much more magical than the scientific explanations behind them.
The pale smudgy cloud seemed to become more solid and more transparent at the same time. Over a period of minutes it lengthened into an apple green streak higher in the sky, then continued to expand, breaking into two more dancing sprites at either side. Unnoticed in the east and west, green shadows were approaching, peeping over the mountains and shimmering through the valleys between to join the party. The constant movement was difficult to keep track of and I found myself spinning from left to right to catch sight of the shadows as they changed shape and colour. They all seemed to be congregating in this one spot to admire their beauty in the still lake.
At the peak of the display I was dumb with awe at a bow of lights stretching from northwest to southeast, hanging in the sky directly above my head. While the green and purple flashes continued around the periphery this bow was a serene white. At first it looked like ghosts running through trees, the spirits of Icelanders running through forests up to heaven as if rendered in an early moving image. Then it became even more still, as if made of a thousand pieces of chiffon floating in the breeze and close enough to touch. Slowly the gaps grew wider and the bow dispersed and faded away, taking its friends with it.
We played with fire for a little while, spinning wire wool and catching the reflected sparks in the lake with the cameras. Then in the east the lights began to return for one last show before our fingers and toes became numb with the cold. We headed back to the warmth of the car, the lights keeping us company all the way home.
The moon was hidden that night and our senses were sharper as a result. With every step we took we felt the spongy ground beneath our feet give and spring back. We concentrated on listening to the cold air around us but heard only ducks splashing across the dark lake and wolves howling in the distant mountains. Our torches were held out in front of us, scanning the ground for wayward branches or hidden hillocks that might trip us up. Our guide led us from the soft grass to a wooden pontoon, its old beams just visible in the circular sweep of the torch beam.
In the distance an orange glow gave away the westerly direction of the city. Above it the stars arranged themselves in groups against the inky sky to watch the coming spectacle. I pulled my woolly hat further down over my ears as the men set up their cameras. In the north I could see a faint patch of pale green hanging over the mountains, like a smudge on an otherwise clean window.
The northern lights are the result of collisions between electrically charged particles from the sun that enter the earth's atmosphere. Seeing them is much more magical than the scientific explanations behind them.
The pale smudgy cloud seemed to become more solid and more transparent at the same time. Over a period of minutes it lengthened into an apple green streak higher in the sky, then continued to expand, breaking into two more dancing sprites at either side. Unnoticed in the east and west, green shadows were approaching, peeping over the mountains and shimmering through the valleys between to join the party. The constant movement was difficult to keep track of and I found myself spinning from left to right to catch sight of the shadows as they changed shape and colour. They all seemed to be congregating in this one spot to admire their beauty in the still lake.
At the peak of the display I was dumb with awe at a bow of lights stretching from northwest to southeast, hanging in the sky directly above my head. While the green and purple flashes continued around the periphery this bow was a serene white. At first it looked like ghosts running through trees, the spirits of Icelanders running through forests up to heaven as if rendered in an early moving image. Then it became even more still, as if made of a thousand pieces of chiffon floating in the breeze and close enough to touch. Slowly the gaps grew wider and the bow dispersed and faded away, taking its friends with it.
We played with fire for a little while, spinning wire wool and catching the reflected sparks in the lake with the cameras. Then in the east the lights began to return for one last show before our fingers and toes became numb with the cold. We headed back to the warmth of the car, the lights keeping us company all the way home.