https://Voice.club - “Race you to the other side of the ice!” Thomas Ed laughs as he flicks snow from an overhanging branch onto my head.
“Oh, you! Go!” Shivering from the cold, I set off on my ice skates across the stretch of ice without waiting for my brother’s reply.
This is an almost daily occurrence for us. After the school bus drops us off, my siblings and I walk the rest of the way home through the twilight. Trading schoolbooks for a quick snack, and slinging ice skates over shoulders, we hurry back down the road to our destination: our private ice rink. A mile from our house a natural depression needs only the addition of water and a drop in temperature to create our skating haven.
The rink is encircled by trees - stately spruce with pale green reindeer moss swaying from its limbs, a stand of birch still braving the cold, summer’s coat of leaves left behind. From one branch hangs an oil lantern whose flickering light flings shadows all around on ice and snow as evening advances.
Every Monday through Friday, an hour or so each day, we skate. The vibrating skates beneath our feet combine with the sharp tang of tree sap and snow-laden air to transport us to another world as we twirl joyfully around the rink. We are mesmerized by the “theater of thrills” from the radio show Suspense broadcast through our small transistor radio. We shiver, not just from the cold.
As darkness begins to surround us, we look up. Clear skies guarantee a view of constellations including Gemini, Orion, and of course Ursa Minor whose North Star glimmers in the cold night air seeming to dance to music only stars can hear.
I close my eyes and feel the song of the stars thrumming around and through us.
We skate until the oil in the lantern is almost gone, then remove ice skates, radio, and lantern from the scene and contentedly make our way through the snowy twilight to home where Mom awaits with a hot meal.