Lightning usually roars; on this particular night, it whispered. Far above a thunderhead straddling northern India and Tibet, the sky lit up with silent crimson flashes called “red sprites.”
They flared for only a split second, yet 105 of them…
Lightning usually roars; on this particular night, it whispered. Far above a thunderhead straddling northern India and Tibet, the sky lit up with silent crimson flashes called “red sprites.”
They flared for only a split second, yet 105 of them…