A Day
Last Tuesday I woke having not seen the northern lights the evening before (too many clouds), nor early that morning (fast asleep). But now, in the light of day, I could see them displayed across social media in all their colorful glory. Missing them was mildly disappointing, but I’ve been lucky enough to see the aurora borealis before, so I moved on with my day.
After some work at home, some laundry, and reading reports of ICE agents arriving in Maine, I went on a short midday walk to see if the Black-capped Chickadees and Red-breasted Nuthatch I’d noticed on a recent run were still in a nearby stand of trees. They were not. It was quiet. But we have Black-capped Chickadees in our yard every day, so I continued on.
On my walk home I stopped by the lake to see if either of the Bald Eagles was in their usual tree above the dam. They were not. Maybe the Common Merganser I’d seen swimming in the open water last week, the one an eagle nearly caught before it dove underwater to safety? Nope. Did it move on, or become lunch?
The day was brutally windy, whipping away any warmth, but I paused along the shore anyway to look at tracks in the snow (mink, perhaps?) and ice formations on the mostly-frozen lake.
As I stood there, one of the eagles soared into view high, high above. I watched it in its broad sweeping path. I wondered if it was watching me, far, far below, standing by its tree. I wondered if it ever looked down on us and wanted to return its title of National Bird. No thanks. I’m good.
Eventually its soaring circles got wider and wider until the eagle disappeared from view. I walked home, uphill, buffeted by the same winds that propelled the graceful bird.
Back home I worked some more, read increasingly distressing news, glanced outside at the birds in our yard—a few of the usuals, including a Black-capped Chickadee—and wondered about the stories behind all the tracks winding through the snow. I reminded myself for the umpteenth time to set up our camera trap (I’ve never gotten it to work consistently, probably operator error), oh, and maybe become an expert tracker while I was at it. Think of all the unseen animals I could see when there were no animals out to see!
A Night
In the evening it looked like the northern lights might make a return appearance. Instead of preparing dinner or doomscrolling, I got my camera ready, occasionally walking out into the cold and taking a test shot with my iPhone. As soon as I started seeing faint color, I put on many layers, grabbed my headlamp and husband, and went back down to that lakeside spot where I’d watched the eagle a few hours earlier.
Green sheets of light in the sky were visible to our naked eyes when we arrived. It was even more brutally cold and windy after dark, and I hurried to set up the tripod and check camera settings, pulling my gloves on and off and on again, all while keeping an eye on the shifting sky.
I fumbled with frozen fingers as the lights undulated on the northern horizon, trying to capture this moment or the next before each disappeared. Would the show last a minute, or an hour? Either way, none of it was permanent. And look, the moon is setting quickly on the western horizon. Take a picture before it’s gone.
The northern lights faded after ten minutes, and we decided to check out a spot a few miles away where we could wait on the frozen lake for a possible encore. Here the ice was thick, the winds less, and a few minutes after we arrived a rainbow of lights returned and gradually intensified above the lake and trees.
I lay on the snow-covered lake, insulated from below, and looked up into the dark at multitudes of stars and a phenomenon of photons many will never see. Occasionally the ice shifted and groaned underneath.
Sometimes when you’re in a moment it’s hard to realize how special it is.
Sometimes you realize how special it is, but it still feels surreal.
A Year
It can feel tone-deaf to talk about birds or pretty lights when this country and this world are so deeply and increasingly broken: innocent citizens murdered on the street by our own government, civil liberties corrupted and abandoned, lies presented as truth, children used as pawns, climate change rushing onward, dangerous hatreds and divides fed and growing.
This particular day and night happened to be exactly one year since the presidential inauguration. And like every day in the year since this corrupt administration came into power, there was yet more alarming news of people being hurt, cruelty invading neighborhoods, rights being trampled.
There are so many critical issues and incidents of injustice calling for our attention and our fight every single fucking day. We need to stand up and show up for our neighbors, for ourselves, for our country and its foundational values. We need to protest, demand more of our elected officials, support nonprofits and organizations in their advocacy, community building, and legal work. It can all feel endless and overwhelming, especially to an individual.
As much as I loved watching and capturing the northern lights, how could I post pictures of them at a time like this?
So, despite my excitement, I didn’t. Instead, I made some donations. Bought more copies of 1984 and the U.S. Constitution for our Little Free Library. Created a sign. Went to a protest. Got angrier. Small acts.
But it also feels wrong to ignore the bird or the pretty lights in the night sky, to dismiss whatever wonders we find or that find us. Even in troubled times we need to look up and outward.
On this singular day I’d watched a Bald Eagle, a bird nearly disappeared by DDT, soar above a lake.
I’d seen the lights of stars reach this fragile planet after traveling for thousands of years.
I’d watched the northern lights dance and paint the sky in a historic geomagnetic storm.
Each of those moments alone is wondrous. All those moments in one day—that’s extraordinary.
At a community rally the other day I was reminded that alongside our action, resistance, and loud voices, there’s also space and a need for quiet reverence, reflection, love. The fight against cruelty and injustice is necessary, but it needn’t steal our joy, our awe, our humanity. That would be yet another wrong.
So, the other day I went outside and paused to watch an eagle soar in the daylight and later a rainbow dance in the dark night. Incredible. But while I watched these wonders, other Mainers sheltered indoors in fear, and some were abducted off the street. Shameful. The fight for good is big and scary, but it’s necessary.
I also remembered something: eagles are symbols of freedom, rainbows are signs of hope and better days ahead, and we need those reminders as we keep up the good fight.
All photos copyright Alicia MacLeay