A creative response to Oak Vessel by Brad Phillips
One night when I was six, skating at night on a black frozen pond, I slipped and hit the ice. Moonlight emphasized the scalloped surface, where the wind had slowly shaped the patterned, frozen water. In the reflection I saw the blood from my split lip, the quick dark shape of a passing bird, and my tiny little smile, because while I’d fallen on the ice, I’d also just learned how to skate.