Deep inhale, deep exhale. Frosty air on the tip of my nose. The ground is wet and soft. I can try and identify the feeling of leaves under my feet and I can sense the gusts of wind scraping the tops of them. It smells clean and sharp somehow. The beginnings of decay are setting in, which makes the air slightly sweet. I hear the whistle of the wind rushing across the lake and my hair is brushing my closed eyes. Inside my heart is warm, my chest is at ease, everything feels slow; my heart a staccato. And a moment later I am back and I am moving and I am existing as I always do.