There are those who see in the summer a “wide rug” as a space for life, to meet the sun while enjoying the day, and to keep pace with the moon during the night.
And there are those who find summer abhorrent, suffocating with flames and cutting off appetite for everything, as the heat stifles the spirit and the sense of pleasure.
There are those who find in the winter a strange warmth in their interior, a comfort for their mind, a vitamin for their tranquility, nourishing for their imagination, which writes in their minds melodies on the sound of raindrops, and prose on the white pages of snow.
Of course, there are those who hate winter and classify it as a solitary prison cell and a cell for freedom of fun.
On what psychological basis do we differ? Is a winter lover a romantic or a psychopath?
Winter is romantic for some, manifested by a cup of coffee in front of a wet window, with fingers playing the piano notes of nostalgia, and for others it is a flood, cars stuck in swamps and humiliation. It is relativity at its best.
Division is fundamental in the nature of human beings, we disagree on everything, but we agree that a little of everything does no harm, and here autumn and spring are intermediate between the extremes of summer and winter.
For all winter lovers, enjoy it to the fullest before you get bored at the gates of March.