‘Northern Lights’ By Sarah Henry



Lava-like rivers run
across the sun. Dust
of solar wind falls
earthward from the
corona’s hot top and
makes its wondrous
collision with the air.
The sky’s alive with
the Northern Lights.


Lucent colors glow
and ripple through
the high ionosphere.
Stolid reindeer graze
in frigid fields. They
ignore the waves of
red, green and purple
flowing above them.
Then the beasts listen.


Northern Lights may
broadcast a crackling
or clapping. At times,
a gentle voice might
whisper, with a sound
heard in the forests
as leaves shift slightly.
The Northern Lights
are moved to speech.



Sarah Henry is retired from a newspaper. She lives and writes in a small Pennsylvania town. Sarah has published poems about the natural world in Plum Tree Tavern, Willows Wept Review, Founders Favorites and Turtle Island Quarterly. More of her work appears in an anthology about climate change.  Her favorite subject is animals.


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