The air that fills my lungs is cold and crisp.
The snow beneath my feet crunches.
I love mornings like this.
Not that I love being cold.
But it's the kind of morning that reminds you
that you are alive.
Steam rises from the birdbath.
The warmth of my breath trails out in a stream of white.
The call of the birds carries through the air,
sharper than usual.
My senses seem heightened.
I feel more.
I hear more.
I sense more.
Yes, I'm alive.