The sky shimmered last night in response to Tuesday’s solar flare. I missed it, but I heard it was like heat lightening on steroids.

It reminds me of the only time I have seen the northern lights. We lived in Groton then and our friend Kip knocked on the door after 9. “Look,” he said, pointing up. And there, across Martin’s Pond, was a surreal display of greens and purples. It was beautiful and strange and ultimately unsettling. I’ve never forgotten it.

We were about to leave Massachusetts and I took this as further proof that we shouldn’t go. I know that Kip did. He was a native New Englander and not used to having people leave. As it turns out, Kip left us. He died from cancer in 1997. All of Groton mourned. There wasn’t a spot left to stand in the old Congregational Church at his memorial.

Somehow Kip and the aurora borealis have gotten all mixed up in my mind. When the night sky dances, I think of him.

Photo: NASA