Baby, it's cold outside, and I love it

I'm all too familiar with the quizzical looks and the "she must be weird" reactions, but I have always loved winter.

Growing up in New England and then finishing those growing up years on Long Island, I would come alive when the heat of summer finally waned and the air turned sharp and crisp, and I could crunch through the leaves that lined the streets as an eighth-grader on my way home from Freeport High School. Even then, I had a sense of not letting my passion for cold weather become common knowledge, lest I incur the jeers of my summer-adoring friends.

Today I still am smitten with the sight of a wintry park whose swings and slides rest like silent ghosts awaiting the children who will bring them back to life in a few months. I love seeing a solitary duck gliding along a pond as the frosted, forlorn branches of trees bend down under their icy burdens, clicking against each other, while amber and dark blue clouds streak together in the fading daylight.

As was our daily habit, my closest friend, Lilyan, and I would walk home from school every day so we could prolong our conversations. Being together in school wasn’t enough. We were sophomores and had a lot of things to discuss after the day’s events. We would bundle up for the trek, about three miles to her house.

One of the places we always passed but didn’t quite notice was a medium-sized playground with tall trees, swings and slides – John J. Randall Park. It was a community area where, in the summer, kids would play. One winter’s day, I looked a little closer and saw that it had an ice-skating rink. I had loved roller skating as a child but had never been on ice skates. Now, I was 15, and I knew I had to try.

I found a popular sporting goods store on Main Street in Freeport and bought my first pair of ice skates. I returned to the park and sat by myself, skates in hand, with a cold crescent moon slowly becoming visible, along with a few tiny stars. Tying the skates was exciting, but I had no idea what I’d do next. Slowly, I rose from the bench, the empty park shrouded in nearly complete darkness, except for the lights surrounding the half-acre rink.

I stood up with the skates and finally found the courage to move my feet. Suddenly, I was ice skating! It was a remarkable feeling. I felt warm with excitement on this frozen day. I still think about that night when I travel through Freeport, how that cold air felt on my face and how enthralled I was that I did not fall, not even once. This was yet another pleasure that winter gave me, a welcomed gift.

Indeed, this is a season for bundling under a soft afghan in front of a fire, for not caring that your lawn looks raggedy or worrying that your neighbors are off on a picnic that you weren't invited to. So, as much as it's always a delight to see the tiny purple buds of the crocuses

peeping through the frozen ground heralding the promise of spring, please don't rush on my behalf.

Reader Sylvia Essman lives in Plainview.