Busy Mind

The air is crisp, the cold numbing my fingers, my nose itching for warmth. The wind blows gently but whips angrily at the piece of cotton between it and my skin. The sun casts a glow on my profile. A kid's favorite sanctum is empty and deserted, peaceful even. The slides icy to the touch, the monkey bars as well. And yet, i can breathe. My nose clears, my breaths coming out in bursts of cloud vapor visible in the frigid climate. My thoughts ironing out of chaos, my mind emptied of commotion. Staring off into the distance, thinking.