In the middle of one night in 2008, in Bloomington, Illinois, soon after I had moved into my house there, I awoke and went out onto my patio to see why the night was as bright as day. I felt no fear which in itself gave me a twinge of apprehension. It was a clear night, it was about two or three in the morning, and there were only the few usual streetlights on in my neighborhood. I could discern no reason for the brightness of the night, there was no moon, no stars, no planes, no unusual lights of any sort. There was no noise, only silence as if in a fog, but there was no fog. I looked around at my neighbors' houses and marveled that no one else was awake like me in the middle of this bright white night. I scanned the sky for meteors and saw no special brightness in the vast white sky. While I was assessing the situation I was surprised at how calm I felt because the circumstances seemed like good cause for alarm, I had never before experienced a night as bright as day. Had the northern lights moved down from the Arctic to glow and waver over Illinois? Possible, but the flat, bright white night sky did not scintillate. I felt no fear. In fact, I was even in no particular hurry to return to the comfort of my bed. I stood in my pajamas, barefoot in the nighttime chill for fifteen or twenty minutes. I considered whether or not this was a dream, but no it was no dream; or some sort of fugue state then, but no not that either. In the morning I remembered that bright night clearly, with the sort of remote shudder a small animal might feel when passed over by something much more powerful. It seems as if I do not remember everything that happened that night and I do not want to remember.
Caption: A Night As Bright As Day
by Annmarie Throckmorton 2019