Creeping white death

It's been zero or below it seems like forever now, probably a month.  Today it has been 20 below just about all day.  Might have gone up to minus 10 for a while,  all of it leading to literary inspirations like this one:

Cold crept across the land like a misty white shroud of death, leaving only a mortal silence, a silence similar to what a man must leave at the moment of passing.  But unlike the man whom others would take away, the cold stayed, its frost coating the tree limbs and twigs, a hole in one trunk frosty all the way around as if the tree exhaled there and its breath froze. A slight covering of snow provided the only music and that only when one stepped on it. That crunch of shattering flakes of ice and the frozen leaves underneath signaling the passage of anything heavy enough to crush the crystals something that seldom happens in the immobilization of the world at this temperature.