One Magical Evening
I almost didn't go. After October 2024's once-in-a-lifetime display, I told myself nothing could compare. Forecasters were calling for significant geomagnetic storms across the northeastern United States—possibly G4 conditions—with predictions of aurora visibility as far south as Florida. But every weather app screamed "clouds," and I spent most of the day convinced this would be another miss.
Something made me get dressed anyway.
Originally headed south from Morris County, I watched clouds break apart to the west on Route 287. That's when I pivoted—not to my usual spot, but here, to the Red Mill. The moment I arrived, I knew. Clear skies. That unmistakable hint of green kissing the horizon. Through the camera, it blazed even brighter—magenta bleeding into emerald, stars scattered across deep purple like witnesses to something rare.
This wasn't my intended location. I had other plans, other compositions in mind. But sometimes the best images come from trusting instinct over intention, from showing up despite doubt and letting the night surprise you. The aurora draped itself across this historic mill as if it had been waiting centuries for exactly this convergence—old stone and water wheel beneath impossible cosmic light, the everyday transformed into the extraordinary.
For a no-plan night built on last-minute decisions and stubborn hope, I walked away with something I'll remember forever. Sometimes you just have to trust the sky—and show up anyway.