Skaters swirl atop a frozen shield of ice

All is quiet save for the scrapping blades of skates cutting contours on the recently Zamboni-ed surface. I strain to hear the swell and surge of the formidable estuary through the dense layers I stand poised upon. I know the cresting of the currents have not ceased under the crust of this ice. Another world, seemingly dormant, purdue in this sub-aqueous domain. This door is closed by natures harsh grasp. I float on the glaze of this dichotomy. I shine with the sun, I smile knowing the dark waters are temporarily thwarted, muted by the sheaths of dense crystals, snow and ice.

The smiles on the skaters faces, as they glide past me are pleasant and nostalgic. I love how my glides improve as my muscles warm. A sunny morning enhances the hoar-frost on the trees. The temperatures are perfect for skating on the river trail and the light is dazzling.

by Noa Biran and Roy Talmon