the New Year

The storm engulfs New York City. It's the worst blizzard in 150 years. My news feed fills with stories, but we are blissfully unaware. There's a full moon out; it bathes the rolling fields in an eery bright light, like a spotlight and it leaves strange shadows across the frost. The stars are brighter here; it's freezing. When I go to bed there is no sound but embers crackling in the fireplace. No ghosts whispering their illicit evils. They have nothing new to say anyways, would I even hear them if they came? Close my eyes. 

Will the future to feel different. The storm to pass once more.