This is our first day of good weather since crossing the Arctic Circle. A finally clear sky, a breath of light in the opaque winter.
We wait outside, motionless in the snow, watching the sky. The cold slowly creeps up our legs, then into our feet, until all sensation disappears. And then, suddenly, a glimmer.
There, above the dark edge of the fir forests, a green veil rises slowly. A thin, almost shy line, already dancing. The show begins.
Two hours spent shuffling, running around in circles like children lost in a dream, pounding the ground with our frozen soles to stay alive, and laughing despite the wind whipping our faces. The wind pierces us, the cold freezes us, but our eyes cannot tear themselves away from the sky.
When the lights finally go out, we stand there, dazed. It will take us another thirty minutes of rubbing our feet with our hands to feel life returning.
But no matter. That night, I saw the sky dance. And I will always remember it.
