Walking

I turn the corner onto one of the few quieter streets where I live. It's cold, but with my maroon knit sweater and my coat fastened up I hardly feel it. The wind on my face is cool and calming. It's snowing gently, the fresh gusts blowing snowflakes into my hair and face to rest for a moment on my nose before melting. I look up to see a flock of birds fly overhead, too high up for me to notice what kind they are, though their wingbeats make it down to my ears. I breathe in the crispness of the air as I walk. The bare winter trees stand out against the white snow, black against the pale grey sky.