Cold and bright. A light wind rustles the leaves on the street. In the middle of the night (with no snow about) the rush of leaves brushing against concrete almost sounds like a trashcan falling over. It's just so quiet and still.
This morning my breath is like a cloud. Everything is so crisp and cold mornings like this. While standing in the subway platform I watched the steam, cloud, and mist rise from the smokestacks of the nearby factory in Astoria. Something so bright and cheerful.