Perfect Ice - Jan 26 2022

 

Perfect Ice

Jan 26 2022

The lake froze smooth and black and hard.

The skater's long rhythmic stride

cut the ice

with a firm crisp schuup ...schuup ...schuup.

With a steady wind at his back

it felt almost effortless.

As if swept away.

As if his legs

had become disembodied

and he'd just gone along for the ride.

His breath turned to frost,

each exhalation

leaving a small suspended cloud

that seemed to last unnaturally long,

as if the frigid air was too dense

to take it up.

A festive scarf trailed behind,

bright red

against the deep white snow

that covered the shore.

The sun was snow-blind bright.

Cold air

burned his throat.

And his speed was such

that exposed skin

would take mere seconds to freeze.

But this is the allure

of perfect ice.

And the lake to himself,

when extreme cold

had kept the rest of them home,

hunkered down

and huddling around a fire.

Such simple pleasures

   —   speed, freedom, focus,

the cleansing cold.

That sweet hypnotic rhythm,

when time disappears

and the chattering brain

quiets itself.

Exhilarated, he made it to the far shore.

Then turned to face the wind,

and leaning in

churned hard,

short choppy strides

all the way back.

The price of freedom, I suppose.

But hardly zero sum.

And sometimes even priceless;

like a sunny day

on perfect ice.

There was a photo essay in the Atlantic today: scenes of winter. I saw cute little kids speed skating in Beijing, and a horse drawn sleigh in the middle of a lake of perfect ice in Turkey. I thought about those rare times I've had perfect ice. All this imagery must have combined with whatever alchemy creates a poem, and this is the result.

I also thought about that feeling of flow. That feeling of intense focus, when you lose track of time and feel disembodied. It happens with exercise. It happens making love. It happens during a creative act. I recall sitting to write with a space heater under the table, and when I recovered from my creative trance I had a 2nd degree burn on one leg. I was surprised to hear that some people are unfamiliar with this highly desirable state. Because it isn't rare for me: I get it almost every day, each time I sit down to write. Which may be one reason why I'm so prolific: it's great feeling; almost as addictive as drugs!