Echos

its early, crisp air pinches my cheeks
the stars have gone to sleep and
the moon casts a silver hue on the frosted ground,
the world around us slumbers
 
in the dark of winter mornings
children transform in to a team,
as they layer on their gear
sleep falls away from their eyes,
they come alive as their skates
scrap across the ice
 
the echoes of the arenas sooth,
rinsing away the outside world,
in this quiet hour boy become athletes
dream are formed in this cold forge
 
and men become boys again,
the lonely sound of ice on metal
the echo of a puck against the boards
like church bells calling us home