"There's virtually nothing to stop the cold air from off of Hudson Bay from flowing down across the midlands. So you get good contrast: the warm air coming up -- the cold air coming down -- and where they meet is your typical frontal location."

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When the short days of winter came, dusk fell before we had well eaten our dinners. When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre. The space of sky above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street.

— James Joyce