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Yeah. I was on a school camping trip in middle school, in Minnesota (mid-1980s), and I snuck off to take a night skinny dip in the lake near our campsite. I was walking down the hill toward the lake-- it was a very clear night, with bright, huge, full moon, and even brighter with the moon reflecting off the lake-- and I stopped short. On the other side of the valley (I use the term valley loosely-- Minnesota's pretty flat), something was hovering. It was a triangular craft, glossy shiny black (except for very bright blue-white lights in its sides, like windows or portholes). No wings, no tails, no visible engines, no projections or protrusions. It was freaking huge. Like, 747 big. It hovered in complete and total silence. I watched it, almost peeing my pants, for maybe five minutes. Then it shot up, vertically, hundreds of feet in seconds, and then shot off at what looked like around a seventy-degree angle, disappearing in just a second or two. When it had vanished, I heard a sound like distant thunder.
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Dull sublunary lovers love,
Whose soul is sense, cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
That thing which elemented it.
(From "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" by John Donne)
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