We’re all reeling a little, or a lot, from the effects of Helene on our family and friends in western North Carolina. Our computers and televisions and newspapers are flooded with photos and descriptions of unimaginable destruction.

We’ve seen homes swept away or collapsing into roaring waters, trees plowed down, roads crushed and washed away, mud covering land far and wide, and of course, the heartbreaking stories of people being swept away and not yet found.

It’s enough to make all of us sad, angry, scared and a little helpless, but we have reacted with typical American grit and determination, gathering supplies, forming volunteer groups, offering services and support. We have turned our emotions into action and will continue to do so as long as there are people who need us.

But we are also on the cusp of fall, so our tree leaves are changing color and falling, the green is slowly beginning to fade, the vibrancy of summer is easing away.

Which can add to what we are feeling, something akin to the weariness we experience at the end of a long, gray winter. We are starving for some beauty, some small reminder that all is not lost, and that there is still a reason to have faith we will come back from this devastation.

And, almost on cue, along comes another view of the northern lights.

This past Thursday night, we got the word, however late, that until about 2 a.m. Friday morning, most of us in North Carolina might be able to see the aurora borealis or northern lights, as we did back in May.

Typically, the northern lights are visible only in the far northern regions of earth, within 1,550 miles of the North Pole, but twice now in 2024, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), a coronal mass ejection from the sun has pushed the lights into our viewing range.

That ejection, or CME, which is a large expulsion of plasma and magnetic fields from the sun, was kicked out Tuesday, and reached our atmosphere Thursday night as the resulting geomagnetic field pushed particles farther across the surface of the earth.

Almost immediately Thursday night, we started to see friends and neighbors sharing photos taken out in their yards — stunning images of the purple, pink and even teal lights washed across the skies.

Experts have said even if you think you aren’t seeing much, you should aim your camera upward at the sky and snap a few photos because the camera can capture light the eye cannot see.

I realize these lights don’t solve anything. They don’t help folks still in dire need in our mountains or in other states impacted by Helene or now by Milton.

But they do remind me, at least, that there is still beauty and surprise and simple joy in the world if we just look. It gives me a moment to breathe, to just absorb something that once again I have no control over, but this time is beautiful.

Hurricanes are beyond our control, as are tornadoes and blizzards and wildfires — and northern lights. To see something lovely come from something we cannot control after being subjected to such trauma from something we also cannot control is a small but oh so wonderful gift.

And it sent me back to work trying to find ways to help with a renewed sense of encouragement and hope.

Someone told me last week I should write a column advising folks to just go outside and play to escape some of the tension and drama in our world right now. Well, this was not my message, but one from the universe, calling us all outside for a moment, if not to play, then at least to just stop for a minute and enjoy nature’s light show.

If you got to see it in person, I hope it filled you with some peace, and if you missed it, take a moment to check out some of the amazing photos online.

In the midst of chaos, there is, still, beauty.

Elisabeth Strillacci covers crime, courts, Spencer, East Spencer and Kannapolis for the Salisbury Post.