FEBRUARY WITH ORANGES -- INSTEAD OF ICE

I can remember February in Michigan on the Upper Peninsula where you had to go due south for forty miles to hit the Canadian border. I can still see that frozen shore line of the great lake. I can also remember driving past the prison at Marquette. The huge, gray, inclined walls sucked the sun’s feeble heat from the air. A very cruel but not unusual punishment for its inhabitants.
I still recall looking out the window in upstate New York seeing the steam rise off of Lake Champlain when the air temperature dropped to twenty degrees and the lake was still a chilly sixty degrees.
Despite the fact that some say cold does not radiate, there were days on the flight line there when something made its way through my insulated boots and stole all the heat from my ankles down and left an ache behind.
One of my memories of February is hitting a patch of ice while driving, doing a one-eighty, and ending up in a ditch facing the way from which I had come.

Do I miss all that?
Take a look at my face and make a guess.