Trying to recapture the joy of those winter days is difficult. School cancelled. The sun shining through the sheer white curtains into an all too girlie room, the sound of the teakettle whistling, the ice-cold feeling of oak boards on bare feet between braided rugs, as I ran to the kitchen. The transistor radio still babbling school closings as the snow sifted down.
sparkles on snowflakes –
the plow passes
Quick phone calls punctuated with giggles rouse the gaggle of neighborhood girls. White skates in hand, I am out the door and rushing toward the swampy area behind the neighbor’s house. Rubber boots crunch through the crust beneath the powdery fluff. At the edge of the watery wood, I stand staring. Boys, I see the boys in there and they have their skates on already. Tommy skates toward me, Tommy Maloney, my crush.
his black waves
dusted with snow –
whoops of delight
A hummock of snow topped grass serves as my seat. I remove my boots from beneath the zip sides of my snow pants and start to lace my new white skates. Once done, I stand wobbling, weak-ankled. Tommy laughs as, knock-kneed I attempt a glide toward him falling, on my butt. Oh, how his eyes sparkled, an Irish rogue at twelve. Kneeling, Tommy began to re-lace my skates. I remember wishing, so much, he would kiss me.