Amos misses such activities dreadfully. He also misses scraping ice off the windows of his car, struggling to open car doors that have frozen shut, making one's way carefully down ice-coated steps, bracing against the freezing winds, squinting one's eyes against the glare on the roads, and battling the dreaded rear-end shimmy as the car begins to lose control and fishtail its way into the guardrail.

It is because of being deprived of all these joys that Amos seeks solace in dens of iniquity such as Starbucks, there to sip morosely his Chai Latte' as he yearns for the distant pleasures of winter.

I'd send him some snowballs in the mail, but I'm afraid they would melt before they got there.