Back On Westside Hill?

The mist was heavy, causing the air to be extremely cold and humid. The grass was wet under her and the wetness was slowly seeping through the trousers she wore. Abandoning common sense, she continued to sit on the ground even though she was almost soaked through to her drawers.

Her nostrils were starting to hurt from the perfect cold, and even though her feet were toasty warm from inside her boots, her hands were numb and her fingers frozen to the point of falling off. But, she was loving it because somewhere deep in her, she knew it would not harm her, at least not today.

The lady inhaled deeply and exhaled strongly, her breath misting as well. The cold wind blew against her face and rather than not, it warmed it, caressing her slowly as it passed by. She found the hilltop to be both a place of austerity and a seat of solace. The cold wind froze her in place and the wet grass nourished her liberty, holding her away from everything that troubled her.