random thoughts – Day 1,514 – (Saturday) – aurora

Friday saw a “severe solar storm” geomagnetic event. According to some news and weather sources, it was the biggest in the US since the 1930s.  

Aurora coverage.

I heard about it early in the day and remembered to mention it to my friends when we were out for drinks after work. The sky was surprisingly clear, considering most events happening overhead are blocked by near-100% cloud cover parked over my yard. Lunar eclipse? Nope, cloudy. Meteor shower? Nope, cloudy. Space station? Starlink? Nope, nope. Not for you my dear (followed by heavenly maniacal laughter).

The Aurora app was downloaded, which offers an Aurora map, alerts, "best locations now," and live webcams from around the globe. Various posts on social media suggested that 10:00pm – 3:00 am was the likely visibility window, and around 10:00 I was on my deck, forsaking the latest offerings on Netflix and craning my neck skyward, bobbing and weaving to see around trees and all the houses in the immediate area which are taller than mine. It isn’t even a tiny shred of exaggeration when I say that all of the houses around mine are taller – by one to two stories plus attic space. The only structure on my end of the street that is shorter than my house is my shed.

Aurora in the news

Looking in the direction towards Dracut where the sun sets and the little fingernail clipping of the moon was hanging out, there was a hint of maybe pink in the sky. I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t think to check it with my camera. Back inside, my Facebook feed soon began exploding with Aurora images, mostly deep pinks and reds, and the helpful note from a fellow banker photographer that it is more visible in photos. I went back outside, camera app opened, ready to witness the splendor.

Friends in another county who have a big yard and are free from city lights were texted, and soon they were sharing dozens of beautiful photos of the Aurora from their own deck. Meanwhile, at my deck, there was nothing. A dark sky. A sliver of moon. Smoke from the next door neighbors' recently established weekly pyro-fest where cars regularly block the street and my driveway and they stand and sit around a wood fire pit in a sliver of the yard between the house and the embankment to Beaver Brook. 

I fled the house, the neighbors, and their smoke to take a drive around town, hoping for a higher vantage point or someplace more open. The drive in search of Aurora took me into Dracut and back into Lowell, then up Christian Hill near the reservoir. I don’t really like driving, and it’s boring as hell alone with no set destination and nobody to talk to or to help with navigation, so it felt like quite a lot of effort. If I’d had a companion, and said companion said, “hey, let’s go to the beach (or Timbuktu or Hell or wherever) and see if we can see it,” we would have hit the highway immediately. As it was just me, I went back home.

My Facebook feed was blowing up with Aurora images by then. Photos were being posted on a local weather site from nearby Dracut, Dunstable, and Chelmsford. Friends living in New Hampshire, Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama, and Washington State were sharing photos and posts. 

One of my many identical Aurora photos.

Around 11:30, the Severe Weather Updates Facebook page declared that 90% of the United States could see the Aurora. Ninety percent of the country, except me. I saw not a frigging thing. Not with my own eyes, and not with my cell camera on every setting it has. All was dark nothingness, like the void where my heart should be, as I was informed on more than one occasion by a couple exes.

I wish I could say not seeing Aurora was a surprise, but a half-century plus of missing out on things for one reason or another has taught me a lot, but I keep trying, so there is that. It was also not a surprise, and I kind of hate to admit it, that I was feeling my own little personal solar storm of envy, and it wasn’t nearly as pretty as Aurora.