Come
Come to me
the ice whispered.
Come to me –
you can walk on water.
I turned away and looked at the snow that had hidden the expanse of lawn and left powder shaken down one side of each of the trees making them slimmer. It had also dusted their bare branches with glitter. Like people in the winter of their years ready for a last party they stood facing the dance floor, not one of them wanting to be the first. The cedar tree with great feather boa arms offered the floor to me. So I turned back. I’ve never minded being the first to dance.
The lake spoke this time.
This ice is thick and
you are very thin –
come here.
The snow popped with each step till I reached the lake’s hard surface – its smoothness interrupted by pits and bumps. It held and I released the breath I hadn't known I was holding. I pushed off and slid, my leather shoes pink smiles dancing and sliding past the startled geese. As I twirled the trees danced around me their branches joining around me.
Gunshots snapped under my feet as I slid towards the middle. Too late I realised, this time I'd gone too far.
* Sonia Jarema describes herself as an allotmenteer living on the edge of London.
