I skate behind for the view ahead: the bejeaned grace of men who have been doing this forever. You can see the hockey that lives in the legs of one, the figures coiled and ready to spring in those of the other. I try to match the movement, know I can’t, still love the way the ice moves under me as the globe spins.
But back to the asses I began to objectify: Both of these boys have slid past the sixty-year line, one likely ten or fifteen years ago. I whisper a prayer to Something Out There that in twenty-thirty years I’ll still be able to move like this . . . this fast . . . faster.
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5 comments:
Simply lovely.
the hockey that lives in the legs of one, the figures coiled and ready to spring in those of the other
Wow! My grandmother took up figure skating in her forties, if that's any encouragement. But as for older, I have no hope to offer you except the thought that perhaps you'll be different from me.
Susan: I can only be hopeful and keep moving now. I'm already aware it ain't what it used to be (not that it was ever much).
[This is good]
Oops, wrong blog software.
Loved this. I could see the two men ahead of you, skating.
IB, this looks like it will be a very nice blog to read.
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