Nights like these

The air made a crisp cold sensation as it filled my lungs, sending a shiver throughout my body. The night was dark and a faint silhouette of evergreen trees were in the distance. When I breathed a foggy mist left my lips, and lingered until it evaporated into the thin air.
    The rustling of branches broke the stillness of the night as a breeze caressed my face like a bucket of ice water. My face tightened and my eyes closed; my bones grew cold. After the Arctic wind stopped I opened my eyes, the darkness was overwhelming and the silence was dephening. I am so small under the clear night, and I am completely alone; not even the moon would dare show her face on a stale night like this to ease my feeling.
    Time stood still on nights like this, but the hands on my watch said otherwise. Fourty-three minutes has passed seeming like a few seconds wasted to wandering.
    I picked at my feet that grew in to the soil, turned my back to the forest of dark spruces and vacant evergeens, then made my way back to the path.

    When I reached the top everything still looked the same. The bushes hadn't moved, and the lanturn in the distance cast the same shadow. The night was young, but my pulse made me feel old. Everything was so still in it hybernative state that nothing will ever acknowledge that I was here.
    Why would I come to a place so still and quiet; this place that nothing ever moves or breathes, or noticeses? Is this the reason that I seek refuge in this untimely of all places? If it were thriving alive with life would I still be here, in its company, at this time?