Summer Is Hot, Winter Is Cold

Durning summer, the sun beats down relentlessly, turning the city into a concrete oven. You overhear conversations at every corner: "It's unbearable!" "I can't wait for winter!" But, as the seasons change, so do the complaints. "This cold is killing me!" "When will spring arrive?"

When I hear this, I think about the futility of these grumbles. The weather, in its eternal dance, has been performing the same routine for ages. Summer brings heat, winter ushers in cold, spring blooms with rain, and autumn dries the leaves. It's a cycle as old as the Earth itself.

Why complain about something you cannot change, influence or control?