Aurora in Norway

Norway, Tromsø, the arctic circle.
It’s cold and wet but I will never forget.

I’m hugging myself in a clearing surrounded by pine trees and I’m wrapped up in two jackets, one donated and one found; a rainbow beanie, also found, two shirts and a pair of thick socks and it does not seem to be enough. A dog has ripped open a bag of flour used to make biscuits of breakfast, lunch and dinner and it is irretrievably soaking in to the dirt.
In our clearing and put away underneath a shelter of what amounts to flotsam and jetsam, made of rotten floorboards and ripped tarpaulins incredulously found in a forest, there is a single skin tent and it is has been home for eight days so far. It is a poor excuse for a shelter. Under a lean to of more rotten timber my travel companion and friend tends a fire where the wet timber produces more smoke than heat.
Across the way there is a mountain; it is our thermometer and clock. Everyday the frost marches further down its spine and our time is running out. We decide that we must stay and bare this cold and these poor rations until we feel that we have earned the northern lights
The Aurora is one of the seven natural wonders of the world and whereas the other six are of solid rock and unmoving, the aurora is elusive and adheres to no schedule. For many it is a dream trip into the northern latitudes and the Arctic Circle, but many go home with out a glimpse. Plan all you want and you can still miss them.
Acutely mindful of how far a back backer budget extends in Norway’s high priced economy, the shallow wilderness on the outskirts of town becomes our uneasy home. I have expectations for the lights, how they should make me feel when I see them. I am intoxicated by awe; by things which are awesome and create a sense of wonder as new neural connections are made as the brain justifies its own remarkable existence, here on our lonely planet, and it is a feeling worth chasing through the bitter cold and physical and emotional discomfort and if the road has taught anything it is that in a day or two, when the dust settles it will be a funny story to share, If we make it that long.
Though, wandering around a lake on a cold night in Tromsø away from the small comfort of a small fire, I look up and see colorful bands of green and purple with waves of pale white like moon-glow, running through in shots of electricity. Not vivid like in the postcards, a trick of photography I suppose, but the sky is dancing, “like magic’.