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| - I'll use the word "winter" loosely, for, you see, winter isn't winter to me without some sort of white falling flakes from the sky. Nor is it winter without some sort of annoyance, like scrapping frost off your windshield or slipping on the occasional ice patch. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't miss bruised tail bones or shivering to my bones while I wait for my car to heat up. I do, however, miss the change - the crispness in the air, the stark white backdrop to a new day, the trees bending under the weight of Mother Nature. I miss the cycle: life, death, rebirth, celebration.
Extract all that from my brain (my own frame of reference) and I'll agree: Phoenix is absolutely great between the months of December and April. May's not even that bad, but can you call May a "winter" month?
That's where I become disgruntled. You see, December weather in Phoenix is like fall weather where I used to live. October weather in Phoenix is like spring. I can't seem to keep track of my days here. Months cease to matter. I don't like that very much.
Add in the concept of "hot as ballz" during the summertime, and any months outside the range of absurdity are going to seem like pure bliss. But, c'mon, it's all relative.
Sure, I may rate "winter" in Phoenix 4 stars, but that's only because it's the only time of the year I don't feel like I'm drowning in my own sweat. It's the only time of the year I can enjoy walking outside, exploring Central Phoenix and other pockets of interest. It's the only time I can expect to need (hopefully) an umbrella (minus the scary monsoon season) or thicker jacket. Maybe even a scarf and gloves! It's the only time I will get to see my own breath, lingering long enough in front of my nose to remind me that, let's face it, these cooler temps are only temporary. What awaits around the corner is the worst kind of pain. Oh, the torment. Oh, the antagonizing sun. Oh, the hell that'll never end. Summer, how I rue thee!
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