Morning is freezing but the sun is bright. Icicles point dagger like at the snow bank below and I am drawn out into this white wonder. Being seven is to burn with curiosity for life. What if I could hold that icicle and lick it Popsicle like? What if I could catch the diamond sparkles in the snow? Suddenly, I open my mouth and lick the frost from the pipe railing on the back step. Could that feather pattern imprint upon my tongue? The pipe, frozen by days of bitter cold, grips my tongue and holds on tight. Panicked, I pull back and find the searing pain in my mouth, the tears and wails go up to call for help. A thin pink film of human tongue clings to the pipe and the lesson lasts a lifetime. “Be patient with the cold” Dad says, “and keep your tongue right there until the heat in your tongue let’s you go.” The will to hold on past that moment when fear or anger takes the lead is patience. “Keep your tongue on the pipe” is another way of saying it.
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