Ten
thousand years ago, a geological heartbeat, the last ice age ended. In that time the hard rocky ice smoothed
island has become home to generations of proud towering spruce, and lively,
ebullient birch with clean white bark and fluttering leaves turned golden from
last week's frost.
He reclines on a smooth rock next to a
mirrored lake filled with last winter's snow and billions of reflected stars
from whence light traveled millions of light years to touch him. Star light
above and below burn a hole in his soul.
This month's full moon slides over an island a few minutes west by canoe
where loons, hatched this summer, practice their haunting calls. Mosquitoes hatched yesterday bite him and
leave an itch he will feel tomorrow. The
night's heavy dew will be chased away by the dawn but for now he shivers a
second.
The solar wind that departed the sun last week
is bent toward the magnetic pole this night.
Curtains of energy light the night with shrouds of green and blue that
wave and dance on the aurora's breeze.
Shafts of red light penetrate the lake and orbs of white then green
drift across the sky in a kaleidoscope of endless variety. The lights wash a day's ration of fatigue
from his body.
In the universe it was an unremarkable brief
event infinitely repeated. For him the
northern lights were one sleepless autumn night. He will remember it always which will only be
for a moment.
