Ice Soccer


Ice Soccer

A goals nest overhead, the white washed branches arch over each like a net around posts. Beneath them, the hazy yellow glow of a garage entrance mixes with the white bulbous lights of street lamps. The shadows are long, stretched over the sidewalk leading up to the double glass doors like strands of blackened hemlock.

Laughter and the scuffle of shoes breached the otherwise dull night. Two boys, teenagers with at least 5 years between them, turn the corner and into the light. An ice ball heralding their arrival with the sound of its skidding. The oblong snowball flits back forth between the two, each taking turns passing it forward and to the side, staying one step ahead of each other in turn. The ball is up, sliding to oneside then across, flickering in and out of the light.

Juking around a pedastrian father, the couple of loud boys laugh and continue their game into the street. Ignoring them, the man motions to his hesitant and dawdling daughter. On his beckoning she comes, her head tilted slightly to watch the game of snow soccer. Arms reaching out for the safety of his arms, and the height his carrying permits. From afar she watches the boys banter and run around the contrasted area in front of the double glass doors. The lights of the lamps above them spinning the shadows of their game round, fading away as she rounds the corner and the sight is lost.

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