The next morning, it felt like I was remembering a dream.
I was driving about two hours west to spend the weekend with friends. I had heard about the geomagnetic storm, and the forecast put us right on the edge of visibility. I'd been there before, and never had success. I figured that night would be no different. We'd spend an hour squinting at the northern horizon and wondering if we saw aurora or if it was car headlights in the distance.
I was still on the interstate at sunset. As the sun sank red ahead of me, I kept looking up. Over to the north and up at the sky above. Each time I did it, I would chide myself for my optimism. I knew we wouldn't see it down here. We never do. But I kept doing it as the sky darkened through sunset and then twilight.
I saw a shape up higher than the crescent moon and thought to myself, "That cloud almost had me." Then I looked at it again. It was too angular. It was changing shape too quickly. It was glowing brighter than it should, even with the moon. I was seeing aurora! Above me! So high in the sky that I had to crane over my steering wheel to look up at it.
I got off at the very next exit, not caring where it led. The podcast I had been laughing at minutes earleier was suddenly a nuisance. I turned it off. I just wanted to be out under the sky in the darkness. I jumped out of my car and looked up, seeing a bright pink glow made of long filaments of light. I stared for a few seconds before I realized that I had to tell people. This was hours earlier than we thought. I wasn't sure if my phone's camera would pick it up, but I tried. The picture turned out more vibrant than to my naked eye. That's the benefit of automatic long exposure.
I texted everyone I could think of. I told them that it was happening NOW! HERE! Get outside and take a look. I tried to avoid spoiling my eyes on the passing headlights as I gazed around, realizing that there was active aurora SOUTH of me. I added that detail to messages so my mom would know she had a chance to see it.
After fighting my keyboard for what felt like too long, I finally remembered to just look up and enjoy it. I easily found that first bright shape that had brought me to this off-ramp shoulder in the middle of nowhere. It had morphed, but was still recognizable to me as it appeared to walk closer the zenith above me. Its pinkish color deepened into red. The pillars of light stretched taller as I found I was looking straight upward. They seemed to reach upward forever into the infinite void of space, right to the pinpoints of stars beyond. I found myself overcome and misty-eyed.
That first aurora (I already began thinking of that massive celestial phenomenon as my own) started to fade. I spun around several times. More pink to the northwest. A long cloud of green and maybe white to my south. I looked at all the cars driving by and I wanted to scream at them to stop and look up. I don't know how many were missing out.
Finally, I realized that as awestruck as I was, this was something that I wanted to share with others. I had about 40 minutes to my destination so I got back in the car and took to the road, hoping as hard as I could that the aurora would still be active when I got there. I kept a watch on the sky, satisfying myself that we weren't going to miss out.
I was lucky enough to share the experience with my friends. Well before midnight, it had faded into a green glow on the northern horizon. But it is one of the most amazing experiences I have had in my life.