One special night

I grew up living right by the sea in South-West Engand.

And I remember being woken up, at about midnight, by my Dad, when I was only 10 or so.  He'd just got back from walking the dog and had come upstairs to tell me and my sister to get dressed.  He wanted to take us back up to the seafront to show us something amazing. 

Now we were NEVER allowed up late on a schoolnight, so we were pretty bewildered and a little scared.  Despite our questions, he refused to tell us what the surprise was and just told us to hurry up.  So we threw on some clothes and, still rather groggy with sleep, we tried to match Dad's stride as he quickly walked us up to the sea front. 

Then he sat us on the sea wall and told us to look up at the sky. 

At first we saw nothing, but then, as our eyes adjusted to the darkness, we saw what he was pointing to.   A faint greeny-yellow curtain, floating and undulating right across the bay, fading in and out.

The northern lights!

The cold night air forgotten, we just stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed as Dad explained to us, in a whispered voice, what they were and how they were formed.  It was a magical moment, seeing such a rare event so far south. 

But the best thing was Dad chose to share it with us. 

I was reminded of this amazing night when I saw the news of the strong solar wind this week.  So I stood out on the back porch and scoured the northern sky on Thursday night around midnight.

Took me right back to 10 again.