From riding bikes up and down city streets,

From the wind grazing through my hair and the sun kissing my face,

From nights of open windows and curtains gently swaying,

From hiking through red dirt, still stained on my socks,

From slushing through slippery ice on the path,

From dining with the sounds of cars passing by,

From windows rolled down while I sing along,

From sliding down mountains without using a sled,

From picnic lunches in man-made snow huts,

From crispy mountain air smelling of pine,

How greatly I enjoy

Smelling like outside.