Cold hot chills ripple through me. I’m home again. I stand by the glass watching him fly. His skates cut through the ice not quite like butter yet, but getting closer. I remember when he was so unsteady; his blades grinded against the ice like steel on steel. But even then, he was in heaven. You could see right through his skin and into his veins, where hockey pulsed through them, pumping his heart and giving him life.
I’ll always miss those foal-like days, but I enjoy every second of watching him grow into a thoroughbred. Where all his hard work takes him, is not nearly as important as this journey. I’m so privileged to be here, standing watch over his struggles and successes. I write these words to remember the feeling, the heart bursting pride as though I could ever forget it. It’s branded on me with every smile and look of euphoria I see on his face.
Some think I have spent too much time and money on him playing a game, but really there is no price too high, and not enough time to give up, if it means getting my little duckling home to the frozen pond where he belongs.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I'd love to know what you think. :)