Chilled air, the lake a cool blue/white, like a big icy pole waiting to be licked. Friction rumbles of the blade send corrugations up my leg. Furry Mittens keep finger tips warm, blood circulating , heart pounding with effort, warm inside the cold.
Hot chocolate at the side of the rink, clumsy walking onto rubberised floor, bum getting cold on the shiny plastic bench, the hot chocolate with swirling steam Kundalinis tastes like velvet, like melted cadbury’s.
More swanning on the artificial lake, lights beneath making it ghostly, like there’s trapped bodies down there. Blades scrape from foot to foot as I accelerate, they sound like a train approaching from the distance, that way the track pings and seems to bounce. So cold my nose has stopped working, it’s just blue with cold and wanting to drip a clean sinus sort of taste.
