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  • We are lying in hammocks at a campground. In September. In Canada. There are no other campers in this vast place and there are no amenities. Light-less except for the campfire, soundless except for the rustle of the trees and the small animals and night birds. It's so quiet you can hear your breath, as well as see it.

    Then it begins. A soft glow in muted greens, shimmering in the sky. Teasing and taunting, the lights intensify until suddenly the sky erupts in vivid greens and blues, sometimes pinks and reds. It is made only more breathtaking by the fact that there is no one there to heckle or critique the show, no one pulling on an arm to distract. No one asking derisively, "Haven't you ever seen this before?"

    We watch it in complete awe, as we have each show ever before, and each is like the first. We don't need to talk, we just touch and marvel and smile and watch at this occurrence that seems to be on for our eyes only, and for which the price is well worth the admission.

    It occurs to me that people have done this as long as the world has been alive. Watching something that could be terrifying but is simply too... well... simple to be so. It dances and darts and plays tricks with the mind and the imagination. It arouses the spirit and touches the soul in ways completely tailored to the individual.

    It was on that one particular trip, alone together in that cool September air, that it came to me that it doesn't matter what you believe about God, the Universe, and everything else. For every soul, no matter how abused, or battered; how wealthy or poor; God-fearing or atheist, that the Universe simply does not care and she leaves us pieces of spirit in everything to help us revive our own if only we would be quiet enough to take it up.

    And that is what she did with her Aurora Angel in the dark, on a cold Canadian night in September.
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