A pair of warm skates,

accompanied by shiny, silver blades,

hug your feet and ankles,

as you glide across the slippery ice.

You can hear the comforting noise:

of the soft scraping,

of your blades across the surface.

You feel the cool air of the rink,

blowing gently across your cheeks,

and lightly carrying wisps of hair away

from your face,

ever so lightly.

Your legs take turns,

each taking long, controlled strokes,

almost like you are a machine,

busy at work,

propelling yourself forwards.

You are relaxed,

in the zone,

and on cloud nine.