One night when Jim and I walked through our village
after it had snowed, I saw our shadows stretching before us because
of the moon. Jim's shadow looked like a surgeon wearing a mask,
mine looked like a nun. Later I wrote a poem about it, and the last
line read, "I lift my Sister-Aurora-of-the-hoary-arctic hands and
bless your blue shadow." That was the night Sister Aurora was born
and she has been with me ever since. She is my alter ego and my
spiritual guide.
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