nichepoetryandprose

Ice rinks are a part of all our lives in New Brunswick.  My son did not play hockey, but I know from friends how demanding the pursuit of ice-time and practice can be. 

My ice skating experiences have been a little tamer, but definitely part of the fun side of life. 

When my son was young, we had a backyard ‘rink’ for a couple of years.  Although we had fun pouring water and trying not to fall, my best memories are of skating with him on ‘Hoot-and-Hollow Pond’, the postage-stamp pond in our back woods.   

In my teenaged years, my family had a big pond where the ice was only smooth enough for skating during a few winters.  I called it ‘Singing Glass Pond’ because of the sound made when stones were skipped across the ice.   I remember skating there with my Mom who always sang as she skated and the oldest of my brothers who could jump up and do a spin from a position of standing still! 

When I was in grade school, our teachers took us to the public rink where I skated in endless circles next to the boards and learned to do a ‘toes-out circle’, my single figure-skating ‘move’ to this day.  When they were young, I used to watch my two nieces figure skate and was amazed at their fluidity and skill.

Today my knees are arthritic and my balance is pitiful, so my skates are put away.  But on the frozen marsh at the lake, I can still ‘skate’ with my boots and do a parody of a ‘toes-out circle’! 

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a string of light bulbs

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a string

of fifty

100 watt

bulbs

casts shadows

along plywood walls

exposes gouges and splinters

collisions of small bodies

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Charlie, caretaker, solidifies

light and water

lays down rainbows

and new ice

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© Jane Tims 2001