I had just curled up into bed with my fabulous pregnancy pillow and my dog lying at my back. I heard steps on the wooden planks of our porch and alerted the canine that now was a good time to barrel towards the front door squealing in excitement as “Daddy” was home from his work shift. I smiled from the bed at how happy she was to see him and waited for the steps to sound their way down the hallway and into our room. They did, as expected, and in walked the cop.
“Hey, the northern lights are out, want to come see?”
I love midnight dates! So I wrapped my fluffy housecoat on and slipped on a pair of his shoes. We stood on the back porch, and I could see a turquoise-coloured haze shining behind the mountain known as Ross River Hill. The lights in town took away from the spectacle, he said, “we better drive out to the airport.” So we raced around to the front of the house and into his police truck to drive to the airport, about five minutes away.
We pulled onto the tarmac, turned off the truck lights and stared up at the sky. Streaks of green danced up from the hills across and over everywhere. We sat there in the dark black night watching our own private light show.
“Hey, I saw a shooting star!” I proclaimed with glee. I never see them! I always have to pretend I do because everyone else sees so many but this time I really did! It was a magical midnight date.
We finally turned around and drove home, leaving the beauty of the dancing northern lights above us and behind us. We saw a drunk lady staggering around and she flagged us down to ask for a ride to her friend’s house. We kindly obliged, and as she sat in the back seat, we asked if she had seen the lights.
“Oh really? They out tonight? Right on! The stars, you know, the lights, it’s amazing,” she said. Well put, albeit succinct and slurred.
We dropped her off, drove home, and I jumped back into the still-warm duvet and pillows, my jammies still crisp and cold from the outside air.

Labels: Ross River, the north