Homework -- The Happiest Month

Wow.  I'm late with my homework for the second week in a row.  I hope I don't get detention or anything.

This week, Scalzi asks:

There are 12 months in the year. Which is your favorite? Give us one good reason why.

To which I reply:

Dude, I live in Southern California.  We don't have months like everyone else -- well, not weatherwise, anyway.  Our calendar is pretty much an awful lot of Julys, with some Mays, and the occasional April thrown in.  That's about it.

Back when I lived where they actually have seasons, I liked May the best.  Because I love Spring.  Let me tell you, I spent three years in Connecticut and learned all about what "seasonal depression" is.  Sometime in, say, March or April, it would start looking like Spring -- with little buds peeking out from the tree limbs that appeared dead (but were really just napping for the winter) and green leaves struggling to be all green and cheery.  And my heart would soar and I'd skip down the street and go, "It's Spring!  It's Spring!  It's Spring!"

And then you'd get that one last snow of the season -- that winter was holding in reserve, just waiting to throw at you when you least expected it -- and it would crush the buds and the leaves and my spirits.

But May ... May belonged one hundred percent to Spring, and winter couldn't touch it.  I was always happy to see the calendar turn to May, because I'd know that by then, without a doubt, winter didn't have anything left.