When the sun sets behind the craft the commander turns the cabin lights to nothing. It takes about two minutes for your eyes to adjust, and then the night side appears in layers.
First the cities: sodium orange at the edges, white at the centres, joined by the lines of the highways. Then the lightning, flickering inside clouds you cannot otherwise see. Then, along the horizon, a thin band of green — not the aurora, but airglow, the upper air giving back the energy it took from the sun during the day.
And if the orbit is carrying you far enough north or south, the aurora itself: curtains of green with red above them, below you and moving.