Dad and I are on a vacation in the south Pacific. It’s the last night that we’re there (our plane leaves in the morning) and we are taking a walk through the beach-side town down to the beach. When we clear the palm trees and our feet hit sand, we notice two things. First, the beach is much more crowded tonight than it has been (even during the day) than the entire time we have been here. Second, that the sky is pulsating with a myriad of hues, like the beach at the end of Zemeckis’ Contact. For a while, all we can do is stand there and watch. What should be a blue-black infinity tumbles with a whorl of pastel blue-green. Then a shock of red streaks through it followed by a wash of yellow chased by a sheen of light green. Violet clouds shoot up from the horizon. Orange rains down from star clusters that struggle to twinkle through. The scene is awe-inspiring. Dad and I rock-paper-scissors to see which one gets to run back to the hotel to grab the camera and tripod. (Scissors cut paper, Dad takes off on foot; he’s faster anyway.) The color show continues. Some of the people are overwhelmed by the scene and dive into the ocean fully-clothed. The sky lights up even more intensely and I can see through the ocean surface that these waters are teeming with giant electric stingrays.