I walk. I walk and I peer, with eyes watering from the raw cold, at the pinnacles of cruelty and ice that spring from nowhere during the winter months. I pull my hat low over my ears and shove my way into the wind, shouldering aside the protesting cold fiends and spitting blood into the snow. There will be a night when it will break me, when I will walk into the wind and fail. The sky will be clear and cold, the stars distant and dispassionate. The air will rush in from all directions and shred me where I stand, and the snow will cover me within seconds. This is what I think while I walk, that someday this night-winter will kill me.