One night in Chatham, Ontario, under a crystal-clear sky, I witnessed something utterly astonishing—a series of three oval-shaped lights, glowing faintly red or pink, streaking across the darkness with a velocity that defied belief. These weren’t ordinary aircraft or distant stars; they moved with an unnatural swiftness, cutting a path perpendicular to the horizon.
I initially thought I saw three separate oval craft, each illuminated softly from within, arranged in a loose triangular pattern. At times, it seemed as though it might have been one larger craft adorned with three separate glowing ovals. The colors were muted, not intense or glaring, but enough to catch and hold my gaze.
To grasp the speed of these objects, I compared their motion to a conventional airplane flying much higher above. Despite the difference in altitude, these mysterious lights surpassed the plane’s speed by a remarkable margin. I scoured the area where they disappeared, wondering if these were mere spotlights or reflections, but the sky remained silent and unyielding—no sounds, no other lights.
That haunting stillness coupled with the sudden flash of these oval lights imprinted a strange puzzle in my mind. What were they? Why the hush? The experience stirred a deep sense of wonder, a fleeting glimpse into the unknown that defies easy explanation.