.
I see it now
The first fine dust of it
Outside my window
Far away, the horizon is lost
In white haze.
They dread it, those people on the news
How many inches? How many roads closed?
How cold will it get?
But I say “Bring it on,”
Shut down this endless drumming of business
Busyness
And hem me in before the fires of home
Make me stop, make me listen
To the quiet; to the real.
Copyright 2016
Home Economics 
Regardless of the quality of the poetry, I have a hard time Liking this cold, powdery state of being. This probably explains why your writing is so good. You relish the hushed quiet.
Thanks, Joe. Not relishing the prospect of the hushed quiet of driving home in this mess. There’s more to come, too, they say. Would not mind a real snow day. Stay at home and smell chilli cooking in the pot. Watch old movies. . . write . . .