One crisp evening in Tijuana, Baja California, while searching the sky for Venus, I was suddenly drawn to an unusual sight. Against the dark backdrop, three red and orange lights drifted upward, then forward, followed by more—slowly increasing to about ten. These lights, some bright as dimes, moved with uncanny grace, weaving around one another. They vanished at times, only to reappear, shifting and gliding in a captivating, ghostly ballet. At one point, four aligned in unison, forming a precise rectangle, while others shimmered dimly, pulsating with an eerie glow.
For nearly ten minutes, they held this silent, mesmerizing dance in a small patch of the night sky near the border, defying easy explanation. Then, as mysteriously as they had appeared, the lights drifted away and slipped beyond sight. The slow, deliberate movements, the spectral glow, and the eerie formations left an indelible impression—a reminder that the night still holds secrets, waiting for those who dare to look upwards and wonder.