look up

A note to all the subscribers who have stuck with me through months of not publishing: I thank you. I see your support and I mean that literally: I keep a detailed record of the income from this newsletter. Each time I reconcile a dollar value into my accounting program I’m deeply grateful for you and very aware that I’m not writing as promised. I endeavour to do better on that. Much love for being here. Leave a note in the comment section if you like. I’ll be there too. xo

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It’s been years since I’ve seen the northern lights. Photos of them come to me on my little device. Friends, family and virtual strangers marvel at them. They post their images and I am caught in the wonder of it.

Also, I’m envious; bewildered at why I’m not in the right place at the right time. Am I just not looking up? Looking out? How many times I have heard, “Did you see them? They were incredible!” Learning I missed it by mere moments. Was I looking at my shoes? The pavement? Loading the van? Scrolling my phone?

As a teenager, they were so common that I might have I believed I could conjure them. They would appear with regularity while I walked late at night in the safety of my small town. There they were, far on the horizon or directly above my head. A dancing band of shimmering green and purple. I would talk to them. Feel them as companions. I accepted their presence as eternal, existing both long before me and destined to continue long after I depart. Evidence of nature’s mystery and glory.

I wonder if I used up all my chits for the great spectacle. I like to imagine that somewhere there is a machine keeping count. One day my number will come up and I’ll be granted admission to the splendid show that I’ve long been absent from witnessing. I want to feel my spirit spread across the night sky – at one with the luminosity that carries me back to solitary walks through the silent streets of my little town.

I’m patient as a stone. Pressing love into the ether so that I might be noticed and favoured once more.

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