Winter Dreams

An unseen crow cried out its morning salutations across the lake as I stepped out onto the frozen surface. The boreal sigh of a New Year’s wind, winding through towering pines and bare oaks, sent a chill down my spine as an answering caw came from the bush behind the sleeping cabin.

A patch of ice cleared three days ago, measuring no more than ten and three quarters by eleven and seven-eighths feet, evidence of the familial attention deficit. One shovel abandoned for the warmth of the cabin and a comic book, the other tossed aside as its owner attempted to chip a hole through the pristine surface, and the third went wandering, pushed across the lake in meandering trails, returning after a couple of hundred feet and dropped.

That morning my first tentative sweep across the rink felt good. The second stronger. A twist of the hips and I coasted backwards to the far edge of the cleared ice. A push off the left foot and Ice Castles and Olympic podium dreams took over. My mind’s eye soared far above to watch the lone skater, not seeing the young teen’s wobbly legs, arms braced for a fall or the hunched shoulders. Gone were the bulky snow pants and jacket. Instead, a graceful confident athlete, pirouetting and jumping in a sequined dress, its tiny skirt swirling around toned thighs. Triple salchows and lutzes followed all in a row, landing on clean edges every time. Roses were tossed from the stands as I finished my routine with a triumphant punch at the crisp air. My smile more radiant than the winter sun.

The cabin door clacked shut as a family member stepped out onto the back porch to make their way to the outhouse. The day was starting and we were leaving for home. Those Olympian dreams would have to wait for March break.