It was near midnight on a June evening in 2013 when I first saw them — an eerie, large oval ring of white lights hovering quietly in the Bloomington sky, high enough that they seemed almost like strangers in the night. At least nine lights formed this ghostly shape, perfectly spaced as if each one was tethered to the others, part of a larger, inexplicable whole. The lights didn’t merely glow; they shifted in brightness, pulsing mysteriously over intervals that stretched my sense of time.
As I watched, mesmerized, the enigmatic figure hovered at what felt like the usual height for aircraft, yet this was no standard flight pattern. The silence, the unwavering formation of lights, and their relentless glow invited a creeping sense of wonder and unease — a signature of experiences that linger in one’s memory far beyond the moment itself.
Being there, looking up at this surreal spectacle, I felt the boundary between reality and the unknown blur. There was a suggestion of intelligence, something deliberate in the way this oval danced against the canvas of the night sky. Could this be a glimpse of something not of this world? For those who’ve chased the shadows of the unexplained, moments like these confirm that sometimes, in the vast darkness, mysteries silently reveal themselves in the form of a haunting, luminous oval.