“We’re in the middle of winter,” The ice sheets had said to me every single day before this. “Wasn’t that obvious enough?” Was my only reply.
The lake had frozen a couple months ago, closing the door to my exodus from this dreadful town. I always had known that I hated any and all forms of ice, so the fact that it had decided to show up on the very last day before my leaving just seemed to be a form of mocking.
But on this foggy morning, as I made my way down the quiet lakeside street, I happened to look at the ice. Though I had glanced at it many times before, it was only that: a glance. Today, I actually stopped to look at it. It compelled me to go towards it; to listen to its story. The light blue directly under told the story of feeling like being trapped in; just as I had felt in this town. However, the faded white contradicted that statement: a feeling of freedom, having no limits to one’s adventurous exploits. “Just freeze time, and go!” It seemed to scream out. From then on, I decided to make that a belief for myself: no matter what others or oneself would say are their limits, one needs to disregard their rash statements, and focus on what they can explore around them. Perhaps the ice’s prior rudeness was because it knew that it could teach me a lesson.
Who knew that such a beautiful truth could come from something nearly as simple as frozen water?