By dint of laborious calculation it has been shown that the sun's heat is by slow degrees becoming less and less, and that some day, long years hence, the sun will no longer give out the warmth necessary for human existence. Mounting his "time machine," Mr. (H. G.) Wells plunges off into the future, and, when he has journeyed millions of years hence, he finds a slowly freezing world in which man and beast fail to find the means of subduing the pangs of hunger or of protecting themselves from the cold. The sun hangs in a grey sky a pale,  weird, ash−coloured ball, incapable of supplying light and warmth.

Pearson's Magazine (1900)

If you live in most parts of the world, the words "ice age" are the haunting promise of a planet shrouded in a funeral pall of ice, cities crushed by relentlessly grinding mountains of ice, and all of human achievement smothered under a blanket of never ending snow as the populace stare out in numbed horror from their tiny hovels, like pin-point oases of warmth, at a world in the hand of icy death.

If you live in the American Midwest, it means it's September.

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