The air was cool, crisp with the chill of winter and dry like new paper. Breaths came out in soft, nearly transparent clouds which vanished nearly as quickly as they came. The cold was enough to turn the tips of fingers and noses white and leave a dull, numb ache in limbs. It was the kind of cold that crept under wool and leather coats. The kind of cold that kept children in homes and left parks and sidewalks empty. 

     Intricately beautiful  designs of frost crept up the frames of windows and doors, swirling into patterns so fascinating, the average human could hardly comprehend. Flakes fell, landing softly again, and again, and again. Flakes built up, until a light powder turned to inches of pearl white concrete. It leaked through boots and stuck to leather, leaving toes damp and cold. It clung to everything- cotton, leaves, leather, bark, cement- not a thing went untouched by Winter's hands. 

     It was cold, but after all these years, he hardly noticed.