The Aurora Dancers
(after Valerie PondAlberta Aurora Chasers,
Yellowknife, via Kathay Figueroa)
It is the magic of childhood
To stand in the cold open air
Gazing spellbound north to watch
The Aurora Dancers in the sky swirling
And curtsying, the red ones, the blue ones
The purple and orange ones, each outdoing the
Previous ones, yet in perfect synchoronicity, together
Painting the sky with perfect colorization—with love and
Good will, to entertain and to edify, burning indelibly into
Our brains the memory of peace and harmony and friendship.
We hold hands and gaze in utter amazement, total awe even,
And we step in closer to each other while the Aurora Dancers
weave and bow and swirl and glimmer and change colours
Sure, it is really a scientific phenomenon, but who care?
This is magic, hands down, legerdemain by the dancing
Angels in the sky, the magnetic dancers, the dream
Weavers for the inner child of us, we mere Humans
Among gods who need tha magic in our lives. So,
Let science be science, let dreamers dream.
— —
I cannot see the northern lights from here in southernmost Canada,
Were they danced last week. But I remember them from my
Childhood in northern Saskatchewan, and those freeze-your-ass evenings
In my teenage years. I remember the Southern Lights in Adelaide at the
Beginning of the century. They are always magic,, exhilarating, inspiring.
All of them. Every single time.
And I think of the “cave men” in ancient, pre-history days. Were they
Frightened by the lights when first they saw them? Did their children
Dance with the Aurora Dancers, laughing with joy?
I like to think so.
Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay
There is never anything boring about the borealis.
