The Ignis Fatuus of Newfoundland — Will-o'-the-Wisp

Across the rugged Atlantic coast, we speak of the Ignis Fatuus—ghostly lights dancing over the bogs. On a freezing night in Toronto, I saw that same ethereal fire. It wasn't a spirit, but Alphonso Davies, a red blur cutting through the sleet like a flickering flame. As the wind howled off the Great Lakes, the spirits of the North seemed to guide his stride, turning the damp pitch into a stage for a supernatural sprint that left defenders chasing shadows in the mist.