magnetic storm

The Sun has quiet regions where the magnetic field is barely visible. But even there, sound waves find loopholes to rise higher. These loopholes are magnetic tubes that expand upward like funnels. Inside them, sound travels more freely.

The solar wind is a stream of charged particles constantly blown off the Sun's surface, filling the entire solar system. It's not like a steady breeze: it has eddies, gusts, and calm patches. Scientists call this turbulence.

27 days at the equator, 32 at the poles. Five days' difference, and over a year, the equator gains almost a week. A gas ball 1,4 million kilometers in diameter spins like a layered top: each layer moves at its own speed.

The Sun continuously scribbles magnetic fields across its surface. These patterns are not mere ripples but a handwriting in which nature has encoded warnings of flares. A flare is an explosion that releases the energy of billions of nuclear bombs in minutes, ejecting streams of plasma and radiation into space.

On the periphery of the Solar System lurk thousands of objects comparable in size to an exoplanet — a body of planetary mass not bound to our star. Their orbits are chaotic, and from time to time the trajectory of such a wanderer crosses Earth's path.

The Sun is not just a source of light but a giant laboratory where ghostly particles are born. Every second, billions of neutrinos fly through your body, barely noticing you. But inside the Sun, these particles behave differently: they change their type on the fly, like an actor playing three roles in a single play.

Eight hundred million years ago, in the main asteroid belt, a giant inkwell shattered. The parent body, over a hundred kilometers in diameter, made of primitive carbonaceous chondrites, suddenly broke apart near the J3:1 resonance with Jupiter.

In December 2011, Comet Lovejoy boldly raced through the searing corona of the Sun. Right after — a flare. Scientists checked whether the comet could have caused it. The atmosphere of the Sun is threaded with taut magnetic loops, like a drawn bowstring.

The solar wind, a stream of charged particles from the Sun, slams into the tenuous gas that fills the space between the stars. The collision produces a faint X-ray glow. For astronomers, this is like fog in front of headlights: it obscures distant objects.

Inside every neuron, there's a long, thin channel, the axon, through which signals travel from the cell body to other cells. To keep this channel working, mitochondria constantly shuttle along it. These tiny organelles produce energy and move in both directions, like cars on a narrow road.

A regular fridge magnet attracts iron because all its tiny magnetic arrows point in the same direction. But there are materials where the arrows arrange themselves more cunningly: neighboring rows point in opposite directions, so from the outside it looks like there's no magnetism at all. Such materials are called altermagnets.

During a thunderstorm, the sky acts like a giant battery: charge builds up in the cloud, and a lightning bolt discharges it. That charge is invisible, but cosmic particles (muons, which constantly rain down on Earth from space) can sense it. As a muon flies through a charged cloud, it speeds up or slows down slightly, and these changes reveal the voltage inside the cloud.

Above Jupiter's poles, auroras blaze as electrons are accelerated by electric fields and slam into the upper atmosphere, making the gas glow. But not all electrons head downward. Some, it turns out, get a kick in the opposite direction — away from the planet, into deep space.

A thundercloud stores electricity like a battery before a flash. It can discharge in two ways: by lightning or by producing particles with a tiny charge: these are called millicharged particles. Such particles are nearly invisible to detectors, but their trace can be caught by how often lightning strikes. The authors compared thunderstorms on different planets in the Solar System.

A solar flare is like a short circuit in a giant neon sign. Inside the Sun, magnetic fields twist into loops, like rubber bands, and when they reconnect, energy bursts into space. Part of it goes into hard X-rays, produced by particles accelerated to nearly the speed of light.

The Sun constantly emits a stream of charged particles — the solar wind. Among them are many electrons, some of which fly back toward the Sun. But observations show that fewer electrons return than expected.

October 10, 2024. The Sun hurled a cloud of magnetized plasma toward Earth, and four spacecraft, stationed at a single point between the Sun and Earth, simultaneously recorded how that cloud churned. The distance between the outermost probes was just 80 Earth radii, about half a million kilometers.

Two aging spacecraft, launched back in 1977, are flying through interstellar space — the region where the Sun's influence fades. The Sun doesn't just shine; it continuously blows a stream of charged particles that forms a giant bubble around our system — the heliosphere.

In the stream of charged particles that constantly blows from the Sun, radio bursts sometimes occur — short, powerful signals at frequencies you can pick up on an ordinary radio. Until now, it was unclear how exactly these signals are born in that stream.

When countless asteroids pummeled the young Earth, they tore chunks from its mantle. These fragments spiraled in a cosmic disk around the planet and, like a snowball in a blizzard, fused into the Moon.

The Moon harbors a secret that has puzzled planetary scientists for decades: its isotopic composition is almost indistinguishable from Earth's. According to the canonical giant impact model, the Moon should have inherited most of its material from the impactor Theia, a Mars-sized planet that slammed into the young Earth.

A magnetar's crust cracks in milliseconds. A deep shift generates seismic waves that run across the surface and shake the magnetic field. This starquake is like an earthquake, but on a neutron star with a field a quadrillion times stronger than Earth's.