Snowflakes dance and flurry, shivers touch my insides, and the smell of burning wood invades nostalgic senses.
For a moment, I am a child playing in winters bitter cold, layered beyond warmth, where sweat begins to form and hair plasters against my forehead. Looking out in the distance I make my course before jumping on the round metal sled, letting it swiftly take me into the wind. To prevent from becoming a crashing dust of snow, I grip the metal tight with my mittens.
Down the hill I speed, racing against my cousins over the bump, careening out onto the dark ice, until the sound of heavy on snow makes a stopping noise. And while adrenaline vibrates through my youth and cold breathes from parted lips, a whiff of burning wood drafts down to me, and I am warmed by the smell, until shouting voices above echo down, “move.” I’m on my knees quickly, an automatic response, when I see eyes and determination race in my direction.