Morning Ice by Shea

Morning Ice by Shea - January 2019 Scholarship Essay

A screen reading 4:00 am shoots out harsh blue light, reflecting off the frosted windows and illuminating my previously pitch-black room. I wait for the blue light to turn off and send my room back into the early morning darkness. I rise out of bed quickly, knowing from experience that on these mornings it’s better not to linger where sleep could take you back at any moment. Shortly after descending the stairs, I put on a winter jacket, a New England Patriots hat, Bean boots, and a pair of white mittens. I sling my massive hockey bag over my shoulder and grab my stick. As I head out the door, I’m immediately met with a biting gust of winter wind.
The January walk will not be as easy as in November, when only a layer of frost coats the grass. Now two feet of snow buries the ground, but luckily my worn path remains untouched. It is dark out, but once I make it through the short span of woods, the athletic fields separating my house from the rink open in front of me. The lights on the arena are visible in the distance. Silver stars speckle the sky, making it feel like the middle of the night rather than early morning. The large yellow-tinted moon hovers just above the western treeline, ready to sink out of sight. The brightness of the moon and building lights bounces off the white field, creating a softly lit atmosphere despite the sun having yet to rise. The only sound is the crunching of my feet on the ice-coated snow. I stop, watching each breath spill out of my mouth into the peaceful winter air.
The field, normally swarming with walkers, runners and dogs, is empty. The people of the town are still sleeping, with the exception of twenty-one high school girls, who rise at this time to obtain one precious hour of ice before school. We make the most of this one hour, going through intense skating, stick-handling and passing drills. The opening of the Zamboni doors signals the end of our practice. As we enter the locker room, player after player takes an exasperated seat on the benches. When I leave the rink, hit by a refreshing gust of wind, I can see a few beams of light poking through the trees, creating a shimmer of orange on the snow. The sun is starting to rise.
My winter mornings are my most productive of the year, when I start my day before everyone else, including the sun. These early mornings come quietly. There is a span of time before the world around me awakes, in which a perfect working atmosphere is developed. When my surroundings are still, it feels as if the entire world is too. It’s this feeling of being frozen in a still and silent moment that allows me to accomplish so much in short spans of time. Undisturbed, I can complete tasks quickly and give myself a head start to the day.
January's negative twelve-degree temperatures may literally freeze me, but I am still able to find serenity in these mornings as I stand near the bench staring at a pristine sheet of freshly-resurfaced ice, ready for me to hop on and make my mark.