There’s a naughty sensation that I get when looking at new Hubble images of Saturn’s aurora. Using a massive space telescope to spy on something so far away, delicate and ethereal feels quite invasive, a visual eavesdrop on a beautiful thing that wasn’t intended to be shared. Think Jimmy Stewart sat motionless in the anonymous dark space watching secret scenes unfold through a window. Then the fragility of it all gives way to a sudden oomph, a kick in the chest a fall off a chair as the brightness of a limb rises to impossible blue white intensity and it sees you, seeks you out in the dark. A moment of brilliance, then it fades fizzles and falls away to nothing. Like it DIDN’T HAPPEN. And you watch and wait and watch and wait until the next time, longing to be mesmerized again. When you eventually get over this terrible cycle, or at least get to know the feeling, the crushing wave of responsibility hits you. I’ve got to try and understand this. Got to try. Believe that comprehension is attainable past some secret whispered by the keepers of the universe. This inevitable abominable spinning gasmagnet in the sky, so different from home, is lighting up all pink and purple. A shiny beacon that pulses as it flies.