Standing outside on my deck in Lethbridge, Alberta, one chilly December evening, I found myself drawn to the night sky, cigarette in hand, eyes tracing the constellations above. Suddenly, a light caught my attention. Unlike the usual stars, it moved steadily, almost like a satellite, tracing a perfect, unbroken path across the dark canvas. But as I watched longer, the brightness fluctuated unnaturally—it grew brighter, glowing intensely before slowly dimming, vanishing as if someone far away had flicked off a lamp.
This was no airplane; the altitude was off for jets or low-flying planes, and it certainly wasn’t a shooting star—it lacked any streak or sudden dash across the sky. The whole encounter lasted nearly a minute, quietly mesmerizing and unsettling in equal measure. Was it some unknown phenomenon or a visitor from beyond? The memory lingers, the light still burns vividly in my mind, an enigmatic presence slicing through the stillness of a cold Canadian night.