On New Year’s Day a dusting of snow arrived outside. It was the kind of gentle snow that falls in slow-motion, flakes gradually settling on window ledges and pavements. Unusually for Shetland, there was no wind trying to burrow the cold into your bones so it had the kind of atmosphere that makes you want to hold your breath when you go outside so you don’t disturb it. It was hushed and still, as though the weather was taking a moment to rest along with the rest of us.
When I let the dogs out in the early evening, I heard our neighbour shout from the darkness, “Da Mirrie Dancers is oot!”. I asked him where, expecting him to say somewhere outside of town where they’re usually brightest. But I saw a shadowy arm point upwards, right above the houses, “Here.”
I squinted at the darkness, seeing nothing but a peppering of stars.
Slowly, a faint glow appeared above the chimneys, undulating higher and higher in brightening streaks of green, then waves of pink and purple shimmered through. And there they were: the Northern Lights, the Aurora Borealis, or in Shetland, the “Mirrie Dancers”. The word “mirr” means shimmer or blur and they really earn that name when they dance around in the darkness, as though the night is twirling past in a glittery cape. It’s a sight that makes you laugh in amazement at the beauty of nature and the otherworldly magic of space.
Shetland is one of the best places in the world to see them but that night they were absolutely incredible. It was the brightest and most colourful I’ve ever seen, especially in Lerwick where the streetlights usually mean we’re lucky to see a green haze but nothing more defined. To see them out on such a vivid show right above the house was mesmerising. I pulled on boots and went to the front door where the green glow was stronger, wanting to get closer, to see more. We walked out to the sea-cliffs at the end of our street, looking through our phones to see the colours more clearly. We stood half-bent backwards to watch them, staring and staring, not wanting to miss a single glimmer.
There’s so much I could write about the history, the local art, the photography, and the spectacle of this natural wonder. But, for now, I’m simply taking it as a good omen for 2025. It felt as though Aurora herself was charging across the sky signalling this is going to be a beautiful year. I really hope so.
Here’s to looking for the beauty that’s right in front of us and slowing down enough to revel in it when it appears...
A little moving magic so you can see the sweeps of colour:
At the end of last year I was completely out of energy: I couldn’t find the spark I need to write the or even the concentration to read. Everything on Haver & Sparrow ground to a halt and even though I pulled together a book club discussion post for our first Rebel Readers book, I didn’t have the capacity to have the conversations I wanted or even to reply to the comments. I felt utterly exhausted and I knew I needed a rest. So, almost as though I’m actually learning how to do this, I took December off. I deleted the Substack app, ignored my drafts, and focused on eating chocolate, watching Christmas movies, and spending time with the people who always fill me back up.
It was great. And you know what? Even though I wasn’t here and even though I wrestled with feeling as though I wasn’t doing enough and should have waited to launch the book club in the first place, new people still subscribed while I was away. People still read the book. People still talked to one another in the comments.
Essentially: it was all okay. And sometimes that’s enough, isn’t it?
I’ve come back this month - easing very gently into 2025 with a shorter post to share a beautiful sight and then I’m going to log off and read my book again. I can’t wait to share with you what I’ve got planned for this year and I know that having the time to think through what I was really looking for (the time and energy to read, create, write, and connect) and what I really want to share, is why I’m feeling so much more grounded and positive right now. If you didn’t get much of a break over the festive season, I hope you’re able to take some time now - or soon - to give yourself that space. It’s definitely the best Christmas gift I could have given myself (although the chocolate was pretty good too…).
Happy New Year, friends. It’s good to be back!
Next week, I’ll be sharing more about the plans for the next few months of haver & sparrow. There will be new ways for us to spend time together and bring our creative projects to life including co-working sessions for writing, reading and reflecting. There’s also another Rebel Readers book club book for February (it’s brilliant and I can’t wait for you to read it!) and more discussions on all things reading. I’ll be writing to you every week on Sundays about everything from why I’ve chosen “joy” as my new word of the year, to creating a digital collage-style vision board, home renovations, books recommendations, and a favourite post from the archive each month.
It’s going to be a great year, I can feel it…
How was your festive season? Did you get a break or was it full on from start to finish? Are you easing into January or are you launching into all your plans straight away? Have you ever seen the mirrie dancers? Or maybe you have another natural wonder where you live?
I’d love to hear about it, all of it. See you in the comments!
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