I watch her spin and turn like a beautiful, diminutive jewellery box dancer, her hair drawn up tightly in the plaited bun that I had so quickly fashioned before we left early on a bright Saturday morning. I try to capture her on the screen I hold up to the glass (for the benefit of …
I watch my daughters spin, spiral, turn, jump, leap. Gliding by on silver blades. One has just now mastered a move that requires her to make her skate boots form a 180 degree angle. Called an inside edge. Why there isn’t a more elegant name for something so beautiful completely baffles me. I find myself …
It is minus 13 without the wind-chill factored in. My bronchial tubes tell me it is too cold to be doing this: setting off down the winding lane for an evening skate on the river. The frigid air bites nastily at my nose, seeps cold air deep down into my lungs. We trudge through foot-high …
