Your legs become at one with the ice,
Warmth that flows into the cold.
The ice, the friendly ice,
Has many faces:
Smooth like sheened gossamer it takes the blade like water,
Like the kiss of a lover’s lip or a child’s soft touch,
A caress that runs deep,
That gives power and grace and precision,
And above all, speed.
On such ice skaters sing in their movements,
And their smiles are pure joy;
Their moments are a nothingness,
And they become pure in their existence.
Wherever they are, they’re alive:
They are themselves,
And their lives are like water,
Fluid in the living.
On other ice the blade sinks too deep,
And everything is effort:
The smiles remain, but this is a time for learning, not dancing.
Ah, to learn.
Pushing to the limits, each skater finds themselves tested:
Beyond the test comes transcendence,
And the code for living life.
Feelings and the mind are everything;
Where the mind goes, the body follows;
They carry their treasure without knowing.
To skate, then, with these angels of the moment
Is to be in heaven.
Ice skaters don’t realise how lucky they are, and what meaning there is in their skating …