One summer night in Welland, Ontario, I stepped outside to watch the fireworks—a serene ritual turned extraordinary. Above, a glowing disc hovered silently, its halo radiating an eerie whitish-yellow light that seemed almost alive. What struck me was how this mysterious craft responded to the bursts of color below, shifting its glow from green to red like a living entity communicating in silence.
Drawn by curiosity, I called my mother to witness the spectacle. Her disbelief gave way to fascination as the disc shimmered in the dark sky, a haunting presence unlike any weather anomaly we’d ever known. This wasn’t an ordinary balloon or airplane—there was a strange aura, a haziness that enveloped the object as it pulsed with energy.
Later that night, while driving home around 1:30 a.m., more strange craft appeared—three faintly glowing orbs scattered across the sky, each surrounded by an orbital halo. They moved with unsettling jerks and bursts of speed, heading south and southwest, their whitish-yellow hues flickering ominously. My mother, still shaken, shared the fearful awe of witnessing such an ethereal procession.
This wasn’t an isolated sighting; the night before, a similar disc hovered over Port Colborne, casting the same spectral light. These encounters remain etched in my memory—not just for their bizarre movements or glowing colors, but for the chilling sense of a silent dialogue between us and these enigmatic visitors. What are they? Friends, watchers, or something far beyond our understanding? The mysteries of the Welland sky linger, an invitation to look up and wonder.