Last night, the last of my stay, I saw the Northern Lights for the first time.
I have been watching and hoping to see them for weeks, but nothing.
My time in Finland wound to an end, and I thought I'll come back, another time, to try again. I went to walk in the forest to say goodbye, and it was -17 degrees, bright stars in black enamel. Then the black night roused, grew greener, and I saw sudden coils of emerald light, vast, vaster still, winding across the sky, only to then fading like gigantic, thin breath. And then they started up again, fierce, clear lines of light, and as they moved and changed, all I could think of was breathing, like the sky was a gigantic ceiling of light.
I had made a piece. I had drunk and ate and talked to myself and procrastinated splendidly - but I had also kept daring to ask, what's important? What do I need to do? Being a stubborn, spoilt brat lost in the folds of my many limitations, it seemed irresistible to avoid learning life's hard lessons.
But I want to be every day more myself.
I still don't know what to think, but that the aurora is quite beautiful. And that my work is over. It was a letter that only appears once a day, written in light that falls upon a wall of Os.
Arial, 26.
But I want to be every day more myself.
I still don't know what to think, but that the aurora is quite beautiful. And that my work is over. It was a letter that only appears once a day, written in light that falls upon a wall of Os.
Arial, 26.
