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I'm not a big fan of summer, with its relentless heat and merciless humidity.
Springtime? Meh. Pollen and thunderstorms, with a side order of restless rattlesnakes, fresh from their lairs and none the more cheerful from having slept all winter.
Winter? Here in the South, winter is just one long grey drizzly day, with the odd ice storm tossed into the mix to keep tow trucks and body shops busy.
No, I don't care much for autumn's cousins.
But October, I like.
It's the breaking of the summer heat. The retreat of the stifling humidity. The blazes of orange and gold that engulf the treetops. The crunch of falling leaves, the first hesitant ghosts adding chills to the air.
Halloween is the only holiday that even pretends to be about simple fun. I'm not expected to somehow engineer a tearful Hallmark Moment with the family on a certain date at a certain time. If I dress for the holiday, fake blood and fangs will almost certainly be involved, and frankly even as old as I've somehow become the idea of slathering myself in fake blood and speaking through crude plastic fangs still seems like fun.
I like seeing jack o' lanterns on the porches and fake spider webs in the windows and gauze ghosts hanging from the trees. Try all that in summer, for instance, and you get the neighbors dropping by with brochures to Trembling Pines, which offers a variety of 'treatment programs' for various 'disorders.'
Some people have no imagination.
That's another thing I like about October. The month, and its culmination on Halloween, are an affront to small-minded, sour-faced people everywhere.