Chasing Lights

Friday night's show locally; photo by Connie Skinner on Facebook

Back in 2010, our Symphony performed the Ohio debut of Chasing Light by composer Joseph Schwantner. That title played in my head early this morning as Warren and I found ourselves on a dark country road watching the sky.

Due to unusually strong solar storms this weekend, the Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis) were visible farther south than they typically are seen. Central Ohio was one of those places. I was not in good shape to try to see them Friday night, but many friends around here filled Facebook Saturday with stunning shots of the light show. (The photo above is one such shot; the Skinner families' farm is about 5 miles out of town.)

I have written before that I don't believe in bucket lists. That being said, seeing the Northern Lights has long been a dream of mine. So with that in mind, Warren encouraged me on Saturday with "let's go out and try to see them." We set our alarms for 11:50, got up, got dressed, headed to a dark country road, and...

Nothing.

Well, let me be more specific. No Aurora Borealis. But a light show in the sky? Absolutely.

The moon, a waxing crescent, was setting in the west. It was nearing the horizon, so was large. The crescent was dark orange and the part in the shadow, most of it, was glowing black. 

There were storms predicted last night up around Lake Erie, about 85 miles north of here. Just as Warren turned onto the road we were parking on, the horizon lit up with a brilliant flash. "Wow!," I shouted. For the time we were parked, the horizon flared a few more times with the distant lightning. I cheered every time. 

Overhead, the Big Dipper made itself known. I stared up in silence; how long since I had last looked at it? I mean, really looked at it?

After almost an hour of waiting, watching, and hoping, we agreed that it was time to head back to town (not far away) and back to bed. As we drove back, I talked about how unusual it was for me to be out so late. Forget "so late." Just how unusual it was for me to be out at night at all. 

I reflected that in earlier days, I used to accompany Warren when he had rehearsals and concerts in Mansfield, where he plays with that community's orchestra. Our rides home were always after 10:00 p.m., and because we took US 42 instead of the interstate back towards Delaware, we were often in the country with the night sky was spread out in front of us for viewing. The Dipper, Orion, all there for the taking. But I stopped accompanying Warren several years ago because my body could no longer take the long hours. And other than nights we tried too hard to drive home from Mayo to Delaware on the same day, I have not been out and about at night for a long time.

But my not going out goes beyond that. After the medical events of of this fall and winter, I have rarely stepped out at night, period. (The 4 a.m. drive to Riverside ER in Columbus back in August does not count.) I'm not talking about driving somewhere; I'm talking about just stepping out on the deck and looking up. I think I saw Orion, my favorite constellation, once this winter. Once. 

When we got home, I looked up again. The Dipper was still up overhead, possibly even brighter as the light clouds had moved away. I breathed deeply, grateful for the stars overhead.

I have not looked yet to see whether central Ohio is within the possible range of the Northern Lights tonight. If it is, we may (may) try again. I know Warren would love for me to see them and, yes, I would love to see them. (Warren has seen them, on a long ago trip to Canada with buddies when he graduated from high school.) So we may be chasing lights again. If it happens that we catch them, that would be wonderful. And if not, I still have Orion. And the moon. And the sky.

And I am still here.