I think Kurt Vonnegut was right:
One sort of optional thing you might do is to realize that there are six seasons instead of four. The poetry of four seasons is all wrong for this part of the planet, and this may explain why we are so depressed so much of the time. I mean, spring doesn’t feel like spring a lot of the time, and November is all wrong for autumn, and so on.
Here is the truth about the seasons: Spring is May and June. What could be springier than May and June? Summer is July and August. Really hot, right? Autumn is September and October. See the pumpkins? Smell those burning leaves? Next comes the season called Locking. November and December aren’t winter. They’re Locking. Next comes winter, January and February. Boy! Are they ever cold!
What comes next? Not spring. ‘Unlocking’ comes next. What else could cruel March and only slightly less cruel April be? March and April are not spring. They’re Unlocking.
Seasons are today defined as a division of the year, marked by changes in weather, ecology and amount of sunlight. In the northern hemisphere, summer is said to be June, July and August. There’s more sunlight in May than in August but seasonal lag means that August is warmer than May. In tropical regions two seasons (wet and dry) is used, with possible a third (cold). In Southeast Asia six seasons have been used and the Indian Ritu aligns quite well with Vonnegut’s six seasons, though they are not bound to the calendar months.
But I like Vonnegut’s six seasons for our temperate zone as well.