I really like being outdoors.  Oddly enough, I'm not out there very often. I burn very easily. I'm sensitive to heat. Bug bites swell into large, hard bumps that stay around for a couple of weeks. It didn't used to be quite so bad.  But there are still days when all the conditions are right, and that's when I do my minimal gardening, or just sit out on the swing and watch the leaves of my big tree shift overhead. Or I will be up very early and watch the sun rise over the nearby mountains, with the color of the clouds constantly shifting. Or walk at night, enjoying the bats flitting through the street lamp halos.
Somewhere--back at least in elementary school--I started to try to hold on to each of those moments by trying to find the exact words to describe the colors, the smells, the feel of the air.  Maybe that's how I first started writing...