  I can't imagine living in a place that does not have deep differences in seasons; I'd miss the inordinate amount of satisfaction that happens when the leaves burst out of their buds. For me, the change in seasons always remind me of that saying 'a watched pot never boils'. In the depths of the snow, the dirty snow on the sidewalk, the horrible slippy cold mud that happens when it rains just enough to make the winter entirely unpleasant, there doesn't seem to be an end to the minus temperatures, the pain in the ass of wiping and scraping the snow and frost off the car, and the cold that seeps throughout my body, there is a pressing Need for spring, for summer, for slightly sweaty temperatures. I wait and wait, while blizzards happen, my toes go dead from being cold, while the snow seems to pile up, sometimes looking very asthetically pleasing, but never pleasant enough. This need for lots of sun, green things, even blackfly and mosquito bites lasts for weeks. Then, I hunker down, and settle in, and dimly watch the dirty slush get redistrubuted by cars. When it first gets warm out, I don't dare hope that the season may actually be changing, I wait for another dump of snow.
One day, I'll see that the grass is green. Then, it seems, within days, flowers are out, the birds start their tunes around 5.30 am, and it's been almost a month since I moaned about how cold I was. In short, every year, no matter the longing, and the wait, spring blindside tackles me, then runs off into summer so quickly, I get dizzy. And every year, this tackle, this change makes me inordinately happy, right up until i get my first barrage of mosquito bites.
Then, I think of how mercifully dead those little bastards are in the depths of winter. And here's something I thought of after dreaming of the Architect: The A says 'please' when Our hero suggests the Mother is the Oracle, in such a way as to demonstrate contempt as in: "shaddup you silly meat popsicle that's too obvious", or "please,.don't call her the Oracle, that's a gay name", or please, as in "Neo, stop interuppting".
Could the Mom be Persephone? There are speculations to this effect on Fark.com, if you're so inclined. The lovely bones is a good book, semi-disturbing, which i happen to like in a book. i find that books that keep me slightly disturbed, on the edge, make for excellent thought processes, although I could just be thinking that i'm having interesting thought processes, when, in fact, I'm actually hooked up like a coppertop in a vat of goo with a lot of plugs everywhere. Ok, sleep time. 
