Seasons

The earth has music for those who listen.
                 - Shakespeare

I've lived in an area with four distinct seasons before.
I was younger then and apparently possessed more sebacious glands.

The cold air has made a wreck of my skin.

Around here, during the autumn and spring, you feel like you have a good relationship with the earth. As if you're friends, the kind that finish each other's sentences and show up to events wearing similar outfits without even planning to.
Then in the summer the mercury soars and things change.  You catch the earth sneaking up behind you with a knife in its hand.  Sure, it chuckles in that affable manner you thought you could trust.  It says, "I was just going to chop a few onions here."  heh heh.  You go back to what you were doing and try to forget about it.  It was nothing, just a hot spell.  No harm no foul.
Then winter comes.  The mercury plummets.  The earth no longer pretends to be Professor Xavier.  The retractable bone claws come out and take a swipe at you.
No more games here.  Now you know.  The earth is trying to kill you.
(but, like, Hugh Jackman, it looks so good while doing so)