Through the tree lined path cut into the surrounding woods lay a perfect bit of run off, frozen solid. Enduring the crispy days and endless winter nights was as if someone or something had dropped a piece of almost perfectly rounded looking glass. The scenery surrounding it rivaled any Robert Frost poem or Currier and Ives Christmas cards.

Together singing and yahooing our way through those woods, ice skates slung over our shoulders we would meander through the little tree lined path. Often still carrying on in our pretend Games of House’s chosen characters. Our games of house just seemed to carry on from one day tonight he next. There was four of us, three girls a boy and a little black and white dog. Who in her incessant loyalty favored our locations to any other. ( I just realized I desperately need a laptop, instead of writing on a smart phone) The smells here in our Secret Winter Playgrounds was amazing. Even now it seems I can recall every shard of frozen air in my nose. Red and shiny with the smells of a distant wood burning stove, the tall canopy of ever greens, and fresh snow.