Being Alive in Winter

After nearly a month, I finally rode my bike home along the river.  It has been sitting, waiting for me at HPAC.  And in a way, it was the first ride of winter.  The last few might have been fall weather.  And because of this, winter is new again, and can grow old again.  That snap, the rush in the lungs, the refreshing chill on the skin as the body becomes warm with movement.  It's such a thrill to move in the winter air.  Perhaps even more so because there is nothing natural about wanting to go out into the cold.  Such a surprising reward.  I remember winter runs in Madison, the world white and crunching under my shoes, the people on the lakes ice fishing, and despite all the signs of frigidness, I was warm and alive.  Winter is new again, and can grow old again, and again.  It's good to be alive.