At the Zenith

This light appeared across much of Europe. Many people saw it only on the horizon, a distant shimmer, a suggestion. A promise at the edge of their vision.

Here, it was different.

The northern lights stood, as they so often do, directly overhead at the zenith. Not in front of me, not at the edge of the sky, but above me.
They fell like a gentle rain of colour and movement, as though the sky itself were breathing. Green, violet, ribbons of light opening and closing again.
A shower of aurora, quiet and overwhelming at the same time.

In moments like this, space loses its direction. Up and down begin to dissolve.
You are no longer standing beneath the sky. You are standing within it. The light is not far away; it is here, all around you, present.

It is difficult to hold on to this moment. Not technically, but inwardly.
When the northern lights gather at the zenith, it feels less like watching a spectacle and more like an encounter.

A fleeting moment when the sky seems closer than usual, when there is nothing to do but stand still and look.