The language of Ice

My skates glided
over your smooth, cold surface –
and as I moved through the still night air, I heard your voice, in a language I did not understand.
It echoed and billowed,
wailed and whispered,
cracked and creaked.
"What are you saying to me?" I asked.
"What are you trying to tell me?" 
But you only returned with silence. And that I don't understand.
When you speak to me, is it a warning to stay away from the icy waters below?
Is your song like a siren's, trying to lure me to my doom?
Or are you waiting for a reply to your call, a reply in the language of ice?