I step outside under the high eaves of the tin roof dripping from the finally melting frost. On mornings like these as a boy I would chase deer into the forest and climb the tallest pine.
I take a piss outside, standing staring out over three distinct mountain lines demarcated in various blue hues, just now showing their forest details as the sun comes up over my back.
The deciduous trees glow orange and red like ancient fires captured in time amongst the pines. And for some reason I feel tears sting my eyes.