The winter night concealed the rate at which the icy snow passed underneath the saucers generating a pack of fearless riders. We sat side by side on saucers at the top of the hill counting in unison, one, two, three! Six sets of eyes scanned the landscape below for darkened shapes suggesting a tree, a bush, or even a fence.
The kids pushed off first, my sister and I allowing them to gain a small lead before we began our rapid pursuit.
The saucers fanned out but I quickly caught up to my niece and hooked into her arm becoming a two (wo)man speeding train. Across the hill I heard peels of laughter, squeals of delight, and statements of awesomeness. My saucer spun around till our train was flying backwards restricting my view of our path and the obstacles in it. I dragged my right mittened hand to redirect the train and shortly yelled, “BAIL! BAIL! BAIL!” The niece and I rolled off our saucers about 5 feet before a prodigious weeping willow.
“Hurry! We have to do that again!”
There is nothing quite like the magic of nighttime sledding. Besides the kids feeling fearless, I felt like the last thirty decades had blurred together making me ten years old again. I was not merely relating a childhood memory to them; they were living my childhood right along side of me.
I stood at the bottom of the hill marveling at Dad’s home, my childhood home, my home. The warm light from the living room reflecting off the snow giving everything at the top an orange hue. The moment was timeless and the joy endless.