Quivering hands stick into warm pockets and fallen snowflakes drip from eyelashes, melting into tears that congeal from the frost, glazing over again the hint of spring that hadn’t been seen for a long, long time.
Georgia O’Keeffe. An Orchid. (1941)
Winters become longer than they seem in February.
How I miss the warm sunshine.
thebookybunhead 
“Winters become longer than they seem in February”, so very much the truth.