This is the other side of the street. It’s a pretty leafy neighbourhood.
The cycle of seasons tends to feature prominently in myth. Abrahamic religions are unusual in that they have no explicit explanation of seasons (that I know of). From ancient times to the present, we’ve assigned emotional and sometimes moral or spiritual content to vagaries of weather and such; most people seem to consider sunny days with clear skies to be happy, and thus summer is a much-beloved season that people arrange to take their free time in if they can. I actually like winter better, for whatever reason, but fall has to be the best time for me.
It’s natural for someone to speak of some weather as good and other weather as bad, as evidenced by people crowing about sun and cursing rain. I think that this is not an absolute value at all, that people simply have a natural affinity for a given type of weather that will make them feel happiest. Looking out of my window right now, I see a day that looks good, but not perfect. It certainly seems crisp, but not quite cloudy or windy enough. Were it to be evening, dark and windy, with a lovely cloud cover and a big storm likely to begin, I would feel absolutely in my element. It has been too long since I’ve seen a night like that.
