Cold and silent

Must have been meant to walk home and enjoy the silence tonight because my phone died mid conversation.

No one was out as it is quite cold, but that refreshing crisp air on my face quickly brought a flood of memories from my childhood when I indulged in the winter days as I did the summer.

My eyes fell upon the street light glimmering on the ice glazed snow and the calm of the pond in the park where the old school outdoor ice skating rink is. The river was high and fast today. I thought how easy it would be to get swept away in it.

When I was a youngin, we often went way up to the upper peninsula of Michigan and get a cabin in the woods around Iron River. It was easy to spend all day in the cold and snow. Some of the nordic skiing trails were so remote, you could go out and not see people for hours. Just you and the freshly fallen snow and the reeds and tall grasses. Cold and silent. Still. Peaceful.

Of course, I use the word “cold”, but I was not cold. It was the air. Clean. Blue. Full of puffy white clouds. Crisp. The air was perfect. And I loved to gaze on the crystalline reflectiveness of the untouched snow. Only the fire in the cabin following a good ski could pair with this, and maybe some hot chocolate.

If I wanted to see people, I could go to the alpine ski runs or visit my friend who took care of the clydesdales and ran the sleigh. The obviousness of the joy in swooshing past pine trees and laughing and snowball fights would always ensue – along with a mid run spiced cider in the warm glow of the tavern. All this was my precursor to the wonderful Rocky Mountain skiing – where the runs were miles long.

A flood of memories spurred just by the cold silent crisp air turning my cheeks pink on a quick walk home.

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