Sight:

I can tell by the white smoke billowing from the brown brick chimneys that it is a cold, crisp, and windy day; the kind of day where the snow crunches loudly beneath your feet. Fluffy white snowflakes fall gently and the children can see their frosty breath, which seems to hang in the air, as if frozen in time.  They are bundled up in a symphony of colors waiting for the bus to take them to another day at school.

Touch:

Freedom. I ride my bike as fast as I can, savoring the sense of exhilaration and pure pleasure it brings me. The chill wind blows through my hair and the light drizzle stings my face, but in a good way, in a refreshing energizing way. I feel alive with the beating of my heart. I have, no doubt, a huge strip of muck up my back from the rain on my tire, but so be it. I am alive!

Taste:

Perfection. The freshness of the peaches, the tang of the oranges, the sweetness of the cherries and the crunchiness of the pineapple melded together to form the best bowl of fruit salad I had ever tasted. The first bite transported me back to my grandma’s kitchen where she would make fresh orange marmalade and peach jam. I remember the vintage cast iron stove with the big iron plates that went over the elements, her old cracked ceramic rolling pin, and the smell of jam that lingered for days. Perfection.