Mystical Night

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Judy’s miniature of the Northern Lights is tiny in size but mighty in colour and allure.  It reminds me of Robert Service’s poem about Sam McGee:

Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear,
And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could hear;
With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold,
A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold;
While high overhead, green, yellow and red, the North Lights swept in bars? —
Then you’ve a hunch what the music meant. . . hunger and night and the stars.
Only, I think you can appreciate the lights better when you are not clean mad and hungry and cold, so just enjoy the painting!
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