The Lake Creative Writing

The flakes lightly touch my face, attaching to my lashes and tickling my nose. My boots crunched through the powdered snow. They detonated like Christmas crackers every time my feet hit the ground. The world was imprisoned in a bony white silence. Nothing sounded, nothing stirred, nothing sang. But where was this place? The wind was roaring in the great bare trees as if it was some wild dark grove deep in a forgotten land. The cold reaches to the bone and chills throughout my body.
In front of me, four large benches covered with a silky white blanket lined up facing the lake as if there was something interesting happening. I slowly reached the first bench and sat down, looking, searching for something familiar, the trees, the lake, the sky...