Whilst revelry was the order of the day within our hut, the elements
without seemed desirous of celebrating the occasion with equal emphasis
and greater decorum. The eastern sky was massed with swaying auroral
light, the most vivid and beautiful display that I had ever seen--fold
on fold the arches and curtains of vibrating luminosity rose and spread
across the sky, to slowly fade and yet again spring to glowing life.
The brighter light seemed to flow, now to mass itself in wreathing
folds in one quarter, from which lustrous streamers shot upward, and
anon to run in waves through the system of some dimmer figure as if
to infuse new life within it.
It is impossible to witness such a beautiful phenomenon without a
sense of awe, and yet this sentiment is not inspired by its brilliancy
but rather by its delicacy in light and colour, its transparency, and
above all by its tremulous evanescence of form. There is no glittering
splendour to dazzle the eye, as has been too often described; rather
the appeal is to the imagination by the suggestion of something
wholly spiritual, something instinct with a fluttering ethereal life,
serenely confident yet restlessly mobile.
One wonders why history does not tell us of 'aurora' worshippers, so
easily could the phenomenon be considered the manifestation of 'god'
or 'demon.' To the little silent group which stood at gaze before such
enchantment it seemed profane to return to the mental and physical
atmosphere of our house.
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