The ice cold wind gives me no favors. It burns my lungs the way I imagine a cigarette would. It feels like knives are cutting off my airways when I try to inhale. In these moments I feel my incapabilities fully. The pain from the air shoots through my chest as I try to take a full breath. I can do it but it’s difficult. 50s in January doesn’t feel like 50s in spring or fall, a reminder that we’re still in the midst of winter. I carry on with my shallow breathing that hurts less. When I get back home, I look in the mirror and my nose is red as a lobster from the wind. I smell smoke on my scarf when I take it off. Confused, I open the sliding glass door to see what’s going on. Sure enough, the air is filled with hazy campfire smoke I didn’t smell when I was outside.