You drove, one of my best friends sat behind you, and two of us rode in the sleigh. There wasn't really enough snow left so when we went along the forest road, the snowmobile pelted the sleigh with gravel and slushy snow. My friend and I shrieked and laughed at this torture. The metal runners occasionally hit a gravel patch and sparks flew.
Then we went onto the ice, staying close to the shore just in case. We stopped and had a lovely picnic on a little islet, turning our faces towards the sun. On the way back, there was so much melted water on the surface of the thinning ice that it completely drenched the two of us who sat in the sleigh.
I remember being scared that the ice wouldn't hold us. By the way you drove, occasionally changing course to get closer to the shore and making sure to keep up the speed, I could tell that you were worried too. But at that point in my life, I was used to danger. I had learned to let go of my fear, think "when your time is up, it's up" and feel the thrill in my every cell. That's what I did that day, too.
We came back as soaked as if we had actually gone through the ice, and my toes were frozen. We dried ourselves and changed clothes in an ancient cottage on the Island and you told me the history of the place in a solemn voice. Your life had such a long history. I envied and admired you for that.
But that day, I was back together with friends I had not seen for a long time. There was history in our relationships. There was adventure, too. That was a very good day. I have a picture of us all there on the islet, grinning.
Do you remember it?
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