Under the belly of the Water Tower


Lately I been spending my evenings at the rink, skating the oval for exercise. As I’ve said before, in addition to the outdoor hockey rinks our little ‘burb turns the cinder track behind the middle school into a speed skating oval. (Not that anyone actually speed skates on it.) Most nights I have the place to myself. Sitting down in the warming hut, I put on my hockey skates then set off for a three mile skate.

Shhhhck

Shhhhck

Shhhhck

There is something pleasant and re-assuring about the sound of the skates on the ice. A slow steady rythm, leaving behind little white lines etched into the surface of the ice.

Shhhhck

Shhhhck

Shhhhck

There is just the glow from the hockey rinks to light the oval as I make my orbit in and out of the light. Focusing on each stride, leaning forward into the wind, it’s easy to lose count of the laps.

Shhhhck

Shhhhck

Shhhhck

Around and around, the light growing and fading, the ice criscrossed with white scars, until I either come to the end, or surrender to exhaustion.

Shhhhck

Shhhhck

Shhhhck

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