Actually, quite a bit. My annual growls have me looking for simpatico souls, and I'm finding them mostly among the characters I've created.
I have populated my fiction with folks who have either never known a North American winter or who have escaped them. Dan Joe in "Look Away" lives on Tiger Cay, "a big difference from Chincoteague and its equal lashings from winter winds and his ex-wife." Rebecca in "A Dose of Spirits" leaves the islands to seek an American life, but complains about how cold Richmond gets. Michelle in "Light," upon leaving her Pennsylvania home for the islands, discovers that sunshine, frequent rainbows and ball lightning can chase away the gloom of her past.
I haven't written a single character who loves snow, seeks a bracing chill or prefers boots to bare feet.
Obviously, this is a writerly failing. I am always telling people to get out of their comfort zones to sample new foods, new experiences and new lifestyles. I should, too.
Perhaps if I write myself into the head of someone who revels in this time of year and doesn't have the desire to hibernate, I will better appreciate the warmth of a fireplace, the patterns of frost on the windows, the added pounds of clothing, the itch of dry skin, the zap of static electricity...
Or maybe not.