February is all atmosphere and no action.

On its way back to rivers, snow dawdles as slush; on its way back to clouds, it hangs in the air, a fog, and then a mist. A freeze would send it fluttering back to earth as snow again.

One red-tail rises from the highway median. A broken field mouse dangles from the hawk's left talons. Browsing for a slow-footed meal, another hawk swoops low along the cut rows of last summer's milo.

Just back from a holiday in Oklahoma or Texas, or maybe Mexico, two state birds sweep across the highway, hover over a fence, and alight to pose on cedar fence posts. Passing the time, one meadowlark sings a dare to the other, a challenge to touch tongue to the barbed wire that connects their crooked perches.

Not all journeys are rewards. April might not be the cruelest month. February is not the shortest month.

February \Feb"ru*a*ry\, n. [L. Februarius, orig., the month of expiation, because on the fifteenth of this month the great feast of expiation and purification was held, fr. februa, pl., the Roman festival or purification; akin to februare to purify, expiate.]....
Source: Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, � 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc.
(found here)