Aurora Borealis Lights Up Michigan Skies

Near Marquette, Michigan, on October 9, 2013

When I was twenty-one, I went camping in the northwoods on a granite outcropping that towered above the pine, birch, and cedar trees. It was about five miles west of Marquette in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

As night fell, the cosmic light show began. I can attest that it was much better than anything I had ever seen in the heyday of Detroit's Rock Mecca, The Grande Ballroom. 

The night sky inspired me to write a poem. That was forty-four years ago, and I haven't seen the Northern Lights or the poem since.

But as luck would have it, I found a wonderful photograph taken recently on October 9th, 2013, by Ryan Stephens that captures a glimpse of how beautiful the heavens were that night so long ago.

Todd and Brad Reed Photography took a photograph of the same event from Ludington, Michigan, in the Lower Peninsula for a different perspective.

Same event from Ludington, Michigan

By the way, I found the poem I wrote so many moons ago. I'm awash with good memories of great times with old friends.

 Northern Lights

Near Marquette,

encircled by woodwinded

dark moans and whistling howls,

lies a Sanctuary of Stone.

Above noise, above trees,

this towering mound is dwarfed

by a panorma

of star strewn sky

shooting waves 

of promenading luminary reflections,

streaking and undulating,

a spectacle of the heavens

stroked with hues of

incarnadine, emerald, and canary.

The only show -

the only sounds around.

                                                             

Blast from the Past

I received an interesting letter the other day from a college friend of mine with a forty year old, yellowed news clipping in it dated March 15th, 1971. Our university newspaper, The Eastern Echo, interviewed me about a poetry reading I was about to give, my first of two. I had forgotten about it.

There I am in a photograph, twenty-two years old and looking gaunt, with my trusty companion, Blitz, who is wondering when we are going for our walk. I'm spouting off about one thing or another. The reporter asked me if I was going to pursue a writing career.

"It's something I'd like to do. If I can make a living at it, I will; if not, I'll do something else. Eventually, I'd like to write longer works like novels, but I don't have the control over my writing I'd like to have."

After thirty-seven years of teaching English language arts and literature, a great preparation for a writing career, I've finally written that novel, Zug Island: A Detroit Riot Novel, and seen it through the publication process. It was a long time coming.

Prompted by that article, I dug out some of the poetry I wrote back then and read it with a mixture of amusement and humility. In retrospect, all that comes to mind is what a pretentious twit I was. But one poem in particular has withstood the test of time.

Impressions

Looking back,

I saw my footprints

Glow and then melt

in the sand.

Washed away

by the metronomic mix

of breeze and sea,

It rushed at me.

Time doesn't pass in anything so glorious or regal as a "winged chariot," it is measured in the silent footfalls we make as we walk through life.