It’s the splash of fresh-squeezed orange juice in your glass on a Saturday morning after a restful sleep, with the sun shining through newly-cleaned windows.
It’s the leap and spin of a young ballet dancer breaking in their first pair of pointe shoes.
It is the sound of a kitten, gripping, climbing, and hopping over a baby gate to escape the confines of their play room, and explore the rest of the house.
It’s fast music on a highway, the windows down, the breeze crashing through your hair.
It’s a park full of children in shorts, scrambling backwards up the slide and the money bars, and making the kids around them shout with irritation.
It’s the adrenaline racing through your legs as you clamber up the side of a snow-covered hill, sled in hand, cheeks frosty from the biting wind, your mouth wide open to suck in breaths.
It’s the scream–you can’t help yourself–that wracks your throat when the roller coaster makes its first major drop. It’s your hands clenching the metal bar holding you to your seat, your fingers freezing with the wind, and burning from gripping on so tight.
It’s the fiery pop that explodes on your tongue when a peppercorn crushes between your teeth.
It’s the lazy spin of rainbow-colored clothes on the lines hanging between apartment buildings.
It’s a blast of cold water to your face when you need to wake up.
It’s the smell of new rains, and warming air, after a blistering winter.