I Like Summer Season Because ~upd~ < TRENDING • 2024 >

Fireflies (or lightning bugs, depending on where you live) don’t exist in winter. They don’t exist indoors. They are the exclusive property of humid summer evenings. Watching a field of blinking yellow lights rise from the grass at twilight feels like witnessing a fairy rave. It reminds you that nature has secrets we still don’t fully understand. And for children, catching a firefly in a mason jar (with air holes!) is a rite of passage. Winter requires planning. You check the weather forecast, the road conditions, and the wind chill factor. Summer requires nothing but a tank of gas.

You cannot replicate summer audio. It is the ice cream truck jingle drifting through the neighborhood, the pop of a soda can being opened on a porch, and the distant crack of a baseball bat at the local diamond. These sounds mean one thing: life is being lived outdoors. Let’s be honest with ourselves. Winter fashion is about survival. Layers upon layers, itchy wool, and boots that weigh five pounds each. i like summer season because

You spend all winter pale and dry. Your skin itches from the heater. Your lips are chapped. But after a few weeks of summer, you get that subtle glow. Freckles appear across your nose. Your hair gets natural highlights. Even the small scars on your knees fade into a tan. You look healthier without trying. That vitamin D hitting your skin is nature’s antidepressant—and unlike a pill, it comes with a tan line. There is no creature more magical than the firefly. I like summer season because of the bioluminescent show every night. Fireflies (or lightning bugs, depending on where you

When people ask me to describe my favorite time of year, I don’t hesitate. My answer is always the same. I like summer season because it feels like the world finally wakes up. After months of gray skies, heavy coats, and the claustrophobia of closed windows, summer arrives like a deep breath of fresh air. Watching a field of blinking yellow lights rise

The scent of sunscreen (specifically the cheap banana-scented kind) instantly transports me to being nine years old. The sound of a screen door slamming shut. The feeling of sticky popsicle juice running down my arm. The memory of lying on a towel in the grass, bored out of my mind, with absolutely nowhere to be.