Skating On A Lake

The snow sparkles like tiny crystals as the sun beams down on it. The blinding sun has misled me to believe that I could get away with a light jacket. As I approach the frozen lake, I notice a thin layer of freshly fallen snow is covering the area of the lake. I take a seat on a smooth, flat rock so that I can lace up my skates.  I hear the crunch of the snow beneath me as I take the three steps from the rock to the surface of the ice. As I take the first glide, I immediately feel the sting of the cold, bitter wind. I have the ice to myself until I hear the flapping of wings and the chirps of two lively birds join me on the ice. They keep their distance and with every move I make in their direction, they jump back.  After a few minutes of pecking around at the frozen hard ice, they fly back up to the highest branch of a tree nearby and just sit.

I feel the wind pick up and all of a sudden I spot two or three feathery snowflakes out of the corner of my eye. The distraction causes me to stumble on my feet and I end up lying on the ice, facing up to the snow-filled clouds and trying to blink the falling snow out of my eyes. I get shivers as the ice touches my bare skin on my neck, not covered by my coat or hat. The sky is starting to turn from the bright blue of the afternoon into a darker grey as evening starts to settle in.

There are no lights on the lake so I skate back to where my boots are waiting for me, lightly dusted with fresh snow. I unlace my skates and for five seconds my socked feet are feeling the winter air. Buddhists say your bare foot should touch the ground three times a day…but I’m not that crazy.

I step into my boots, not caring that my socks get a bit wet from the snow that had fallen into them during the afternoon.  I walk back the way I came, my own footprints still visible so that there is somewhat of a path that I can follow. It’s about a five minute walk from the lake back to the road, and another five from there to the cottage. The walk home is always the best part of afternoons like these. I hear the sounds of mothers calling for their kids to come back inside to wash up for dinner. The smell of burning wood coming from fireplaces permeates the air around me.

Finally I reach the cottage, my home for the next two weeks. I walk up the beaten path and open the door to the smell of my own fireplace, and hunker down for a cozy Christmas Eve with my family.