This endless winter cold is making me very grateful for all the technology, food and activities that keep me warm. I am grudgingly grateful, but grateful none the less for our gas fireplace, electric stove, and lovely hot water. This poem sums it up.
Winter Thanks
To the furnace—tall, steel rectangle
containing a flawless flame.
To heat
gliding through ducts, our babies
asleep like bundled opal.
Praise
every furry grain of every
warm hour, praise each
deflection of frost,
praise the fluent veins, praise
the repair person, trudging
in a Carhartt coat
to dig for leaky lines, praise
the equator, where snow
is a stranger,
praise the eminent sun
for letting us orbs buzz around it
like younger brothers,
praise the shooter’s pistol
for silencing its fire by
reason of a chilly chamber
praise our ancestors who shuddered
through winters, bunched
on stark bunks,
praise the owed money
becoming postponed by a lender
who won’t wait
much longer in the icy wind,
praise the neon antifreeze
in our Chevrolet radiator,
and praise the kettle whistle,
imitating an important train,
delivering us
these steam-brimmed sips of tea.
“Winter Thanks” by Marcus Jackson, from Neighborhood Register. © Cavan Kerry Press, 2011.
The Empty Chalice 
What a great post, thanks for sharing.