Starry, starry night...

Sunday, 8:45p.m. Someday Farm.

The kids are finally in bed. D is passed out on Jade's futon. The dishes loom, laundry lurks, the kitchen floor looks like it's been noodle-bombed. But I quietly open the creaky closet, slide on my coat and sneak out the back door.

I take a deep breath. A winter night, and it's all mine.

There's a big ring round the moon and the snow glitters with diamond sparkles. No wind tonight, for once, so I can hear the river rushing along behind the treeline, and owls hooting hellos to each other in the sentinel pines. Their chuckles echo off the barn wall. I can even hear Ms. Red Squirrel tossing in her sleep inside the hollow of our chestnut tree. I'm alone, and not alone.

Then I hear a snort. I turn to see ten deer in the south field, maybe six car lengths away from me. One is meandering along the edge of our lawn, snuffling the ground in search of old apples. Then she spies me and stands perfectly still. I stand perfectly still. I hold my breath.

Our screen door, which I've neglected to close tightly behind me, makes a terrible clang as it slams shut, scaring the hell out of me, the deer and the owls. The deer flicks her tail and gallops off with her sisters, fast, then faster, until they're just blurry bounding specks heading for the safety of the trees.

After a pause, the owls begin to chat again. The snow is still full of diamonds. The river keeps rushing.

I take another deep breath, and smile.

Aurora Boring-alis

Since moving to the country, I spend an inordinate amount of time craning my neck upward to look at the night skies. It makes my head spin sometimes to contemplate the stars, planets and even satellites scattered up in the heavens. I've even come to recognize a few; rusty coloured Sirius, bright Vega, Orion's tidy belt. In Waterloo, they were mere specks that blended together; at Someday, they're brilliant gems strewn across a black velvet sky.

We've had two weeks of clear, warm weather with cool nights - perfect for stargazing, and usually perfect for seeing the Northern Lights. Searching for Aurora Borealis is kind of a tradition with me; ever since I was a young kid coming to the cottage, it didn't feel like summer until I'd spotted the Northern Lights at least once. I remember lying on the cool sand with my cousins while the waves lapped at our feet, staring up as those mysterious lights wove their ghostly threads across the darkness.

And so I've peered up at the Someday sky, night after night, all summer long. All I've achieved is a severe crick in the neck and a bad case of impatience. If you'd been standing beside Jade and I last night, on the driveway, near the cornfield, you'd have heard the following:

"Ah haaa...look up there Jady. Do you see that? That's the Northern Lights! Yup! Look at it! Isn't it beautiful? It looks like a gauzy white curtain, doesn't it? Mmm hmm. Mummy loves the Northern Lights. Oh. Waitaminute. Hmmm...maybe those are just clouds. Are those just clouds? Dammit, they are. For pete's sake." (Calls to husband who is wearily heading into the house) "D, are those clouds or the Northern Lights?" (mumbled response from husband) "Crap! Are you sure? I could have sworn they were...oh, never mind. C'mon Jady. Let's go in. *sigh*"

Yeah, I know. Jade is way too little to even notice the Northern Lights, let alone stars. But I am bound and determined to see them this year, even if it means scouring the skies each and every night until it snows!

Boo

Facebook has many ridiculous questionnaire-type apps (Who would be your celebrity boyfriend?! What colour is your Aura?! What alcoholic beverage are you?!) which, for reasons that I haven't thought about too closely, I seem to keep trying. I think they're mostly harmless little time wasters that you forget about moments after you publish your results (Ben Affleck! Aqua! Beer!)...but one did make an impression on me last week.

"Which ghost sleeps in your room?" popped up on my feed page. And I have a thing about ghosts, so I took it. And the result? Well, here it is, in all its grammatically grating glory:

this dog grew up on a farm in the 1800's but drowned in a lake. this dog doesnt only sleep at the end of your bed every night but he follows you everywhere you go and keeps you away from more danger than you realize. all of your lucky escapes from trouble are thanks to him.

Hmmm.

I did have a bull terrier named Henry who choked to death in a tragic apple incident about 12 years ago. He would have cheerfully chewed apart anyone who tried to harm me, so he'd make a pretty sweet ghost doggie. Except I don't believe in ghosts. Which is problematic, because I'm writing a novel about them. Yeah. Go figure.

I shouldn't say I don't believe in ghosts at all; the fact is that I'm kinda scared to believe in them. I don't want to meet one, not now, not ever. But I have felt, at different times throughout my life, that I wasn't alone in a place, even though technically I was the only person there. Especially in our old house in New Hamburg and here, at Someday. Both places are 100 years old and are bound to have some sort of history kicking around them.

But does that mean there are ghosts? Dunno. My friend R is convinced that our blue room must be haunted because her daughter acts weird whenever they sleep over there. It was supposed to be Rose's room, so who knows? Maybe Rose comes out to play with R's daughter. Gah! I just gave myself a shiver.

The thing I struggle with is not knowing whether ghosts are friendly or mean, good or evil, interested in humans or unobtrusive. If they exist, why are they here? How come they're not living it up in the afterlife? And what do they want from us? These are the questions I have been wrestling with for ages, and the elusive answers are holding up my novel's progress. I can't write about ghosts until I can figure out what exactly they want from my character. If you have any ideas, I'm all ears.

Or maybe I should just ask ghostie Fido tonight.

Rambles

I have a suspicion that walking is better for the soul than it is for the body. I want to believe that being outside, striding along, can help to heal just about anything that ails us metaphysically, emotionally or mentally. I will be walking a lot this week and next for a variety of reasons; mostly I'm hoping my suspicions are correct.

My Dad is a famous walker; he goes for miles in the woods in search of game in any type of weather, even now, at 72. I remember our old neighbour Tony telling me I was a "high stepper," just like my Dad, after he watched me walk across the lawns that separated our properties in New Hamburg. I have an especially favourite memory of walking through the food court at Eaton's Centre when I was about 18. A bit oblivious to the crowds, I was wandering around trying to find a good place to eat. As I walked past two men sitting at a table, I overheard one guy murmur to another, "Mmm, mm, check her ass," and realized with some surprise that he was talking about me. "Yeah," said his companion, "and I like the way she walk." Embarrassed and a little flattered, I became so self-conscious about my walk I could barely stagger out of the food court.

But I digress.

A few nights ago, Neko and I sallied forth into the frigid night air for some soul-cleansing. I was grumpy and she was restless. There was only a sliver of moon to light our way, although the stars were brilliant. I disdain the use of flashlights; they wreck the mood of walking through the woods in semi-darkness. You can't feel close to nature or fully at peace with the night when you're waving an artificial beam of light around in front of you. Neko is only a semi-reliable guide; she likes to veer off the path and into various snowbanks, which is not helpful when you're counting on her to lead the way and end up thigh-deep in snow.

The darkness was ever-so-slightly creepy, and the night was very still. Have you noticed how many different types of silences there are? The silence of an empty house, the silence when you drive your car wtih the radio off, the silence of the fields, forest or waterfront. Night-time silences seem more profound than any of these, somehow. But you can be still inside when there is silence blanketing you from every side, especially when that silence is coated in darkness.

Even with a hundred pounds of frolicking dog with me - a furry blur several paces ahead, a wet nose against my knee - I felt deliciously alone without being lonely. As we walked down the cottage lane that flanks the lake, we came upon a lone globe lantern, lit at the end of a driveway. The cottage was deserted; no footprints or tire tracks led to it, so I don't know why the light blazed out so stubbornly. I'd never seen it on before and I haven't seen it on since. It made me think of Lantern Waste in the Narnia books - a guidepost, an unexpected beacon, lighting the way briefly before the darkness swallowed me up again.