The riskiest daredevils I’ve known in my life were 3rd graders in Russia, running beneath the icicles. Naturally, I was among them.
The icicles were huge and sharp, trembling from the children’s laughter… I used to call them “ice-bouquets from winter’s garden.” They seemed to drip with glassy dew when the lazy sun appeared for a few minutes per day. But they also reminded of fangs, sprouting from the eaves of an 80 year old building, which was ironically named the Teplopunct (the Heating Centre)…As we grew a little older, my classmates and I decided to save the next generation from the errors of our own. Making snowballs we shot down the icicles each morning on our way to school. On weekend, we could take the icicles home as glittering spoils and watched them thaw in rumination of how courageous and stupid we were…and how fast our childhood was melting.