On a quiet night in late December 2020, as I drove north along Temple City Boulevard just past Las Tunas Drive, a haunting sight arrested my attention. Above the horizon, about a third of the way up the night sky, two eerie lights hovered silently over Los Angeles — silent sentinels against the dark canvas.
These were no ordinary street lights or aircraft. Each glowed with a compelling combination of colors: yellow centers encircled by a red outer ring, pulsating slowly and rhythmically as if breathing. The lights, round and slow-moving, held steady about 200 to 300 feet apart, one seemingly drifting over El Monte, the other over Rosemead.
At first, instinct told me they were meteors, but these lights defied every natural explanation. They neither streaked across the sky nor faded quickly. One light on my right dimmed gently before disappearing, while its counterpart lingered, moving ever so slightly westward, exuding an almost hypnotic aura. The haze surrounding them only deepened the mystery, casting an otherworldly glow that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
Their movement was deliberate yet unhurried — slow pulses of reddish-yellow light that beckoned more questions than answers. The atmosphere buzzed with an otherworldly energy, and as I continued to drive, the lights faded into the distance, leaving behind a faint but haunting impression.
This experience, capturing a fleeting moment of the unknown, stirs the mind and fuels curiosity about what truly drifts above our cities in the silent hours of the night.