I am not an advocate for the season of summer, which is threaded with adumbrations of fall in the mornings at this time. I know of two great grumpy essays: Anton Szandor Lavey's (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anton_Lavey) Summertime, from The Devil's Notebook (1992) and Arthur Schopenhauer's (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schopenhauer) On Noise, from the selection of the philosopher's work titled Studies in Pessimism. On Noise is contained in this link: http://books.google.com/books?id=zJhJAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA28&lpg=PA28&dq=schopenhauer+on+noise&source=bl&ots=4ScVIWlLgK&sig=UevbHzbfd64l-Mqsz43LRzVjRF4&hl=en&sa=X&ei=4vMDUuCPHrH2igLFtY.
It took me a certain amount of time to realize that summer is unpleasant not so much because of the weather, but because of the way humans can act during the hot days. Noise irritates. Schopenhauer complained about the abusive overapplication of whip cracking in his day, as destructive to thinking. In our times, noise levels expand greatly from June 21 to September 21, give or take, with windows open, boom cars and outdoor activities. Schopenhauer's ears would not have been able to process the ambience. And LaVey has some piercing remarks on summer in his essay. Take such jewels as: "Taking the warmth nature has provided, he (man) has fashioned for himself an environment where his mindlessness flourishes most. It is the only season which validates slobs." Or: "I would enjoy spring more were it not for the impending plague of summer with its human locusts thriving in an atmosphere far deadlier (if radiation levels are considered) than the worst blizzards."
The New Zealanders and Argentineans have their own context for this.
Arthur Schopenhauer 1788-1860