In the dark, I walked to the low tide line, high-stepping over rocks I couldn't fully see, crossing over frozen seaweed and jelly fish, crunching mussels and barnacles, pulled farther and farther out by the magical lull of the Aurora.
My eyes roamed between the night sky and the darkened beach as I scanned for my husband so we could look up at the Northern Lights together.
An hour earlier, Nick left the cabin for a walk after we put the kids down, our energies not quite aligned, I climbed into bed, only to receive a text from Cuz-Unncle David: "Northern lights out now!!!"
It doesnt matter how sleepy I might be, the aurora always lures me from the warmth of my covers to the chill of an Alaskan winter evening. The lights greeted me my first night in Alaska--oh my god, oh my god, I repeated from the deck of the ferry--and even now, seventeen years later, the dancing lights always leave me speechless with awe.
So I put on my coat over my pajamas, donned a hat and gloves, and walked towards the bay so I could look northwards for the lights.
I saw the green pulsing streaks before I even made it to the beach and their brilliance lulled me further out onto the shore, away from the electric lights of Miller's Landing, to the darkest patch of beach.
Like green clouds sailing in high winds, the aurora shape-shifted across the sky, waltzing with the stars, calling me away from the tribulations of my time.
Unknown to me, Nick had chosen to walk towards the mountains instead of the bay, until he saw the lights and returned to the cabin to find me, only to discover the bed empty, my boots no longer by the door.
So he too walked to Miller's Landing, scanning the beach for a familiar figure, only I had already travelled too far along the tidal flats, off into the shadows, my reflection no longer visible to his flashlight.
So we both stood under the aurora, looking up, only a few yards away, content in our solitude but wishing we could share the moment with each other.
I think we all feel like this sometimes, in this world of ours. Together but separate. Separate but together.
In awe of the beauty, of the mystery, without the words to communicate what we see.
The next day, I walked to Tonsina Point, with my dogs for company, the North wind as my constant companion.
In the daylight, the mountains that rise from Resurrection Bay captured my silent awe and if I closed my eyes to the sun I could still see the green lights sashay across the sky.
I could feel Nick's presence in the distance, his steady patient love-- how thankful I am that Alaska called us both to this rugged land of extremes.
The question is how do I remember this feeling when I feel closed in by the walls of social constructions, misunderstandings, and the every day business of life?
How do I remember?
Thank you sky, thank you sea, thank you rocks, thank you, thank you, thank you....
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