Summer was my season until I turned twenty-one. The warmth of the sun, the freedom of my daylight hours, and time poorly spent sleeping in. I loved the heat and getting sunburnt, lying still, covered in aloe until I could go around and do it all again. August Baby rules say summer is supreme. I’ve seen snowfall before, flurries and iron chill. Footprints marking my path in the powdery ground. Leaning over the back of a couch, getting lost in the swirling snowflakes as they find somewhere to stick themselves. I’ve seen April showers bring a May super bloom, a sea of orange and yellow in middle-of-nowhere California. Sunshine and…