Cold

The cold has an interesting quality: you suddenly become aware if every aspect of your body, as you press onward into the cold day, confronted by the sensation of sharp rain, an electric dance across the exposed planes of your limbs, rainsing the hairs on your arms. You can feel the round, pale blue air pull the color out of your muscles to stain your nose, ears, and cheeks a delicate pink. And as your fingertips grow foreign from lack of feeling, despite your best attempts to bring life to them through cupped hands and warm breath, your whole body convulses to the steady frequency of anticipation and discomfort. Pulling your jaw tight, too tight to bother with niceties regarding the people around you, swaddled in coats. You can feel the air inside you now, pulled up, burning, through your numb nose, and released as a flickering ghost between clenched teeth.