Frozen February

I walk across the concrete hard snow.  My shoes make an odd "carvep" as they come to the cold ground, almost like the sound of cutting cardboard.  As I trudge along, my shoe crashes through the  ice.  It cuts at my ankles.  Well, I guess the snow isn't quite so solid as I thought.  Dusk has washed everything in blue, so that even the characteristically white drifts are almost light cobalt.  The world is silent.  A faint hint of burning wood clings to my nose.  I find myself infront of the swing in my backyard. I sit on its rough, wooden seat and clench my fingers around its bitter, metal chains.  Wildly, I start to jerk back and forth.  My eyes start to leak.  I suppose February isn't quite so frozen as I thought.