Summer. Warm. Not unbearable, or not yet, because it's dry heat and I have a window AC that works just fine, and the lows are low enough that the rest of the house remains comfortable. (Lows of 25C are what one must fear.) When the sun isn't blazing, there's no sense of discontinuation between one's skin and the air, which is why I always feel a certain sense of expansion in this kind of weather. Expansion takes the form of loss of self, both a good and bad thing. Frets vanish, but so does ambition. Also I ache a bit, joint-wise, which I put down to those sound sound sleeps in the cool darkness.
(Expansion doesn't work when it's so hot that I sweat. Then I'm very aware of my body's perimeters, and how wet they are. Thus the dreamy summer state is of necessity confined to the evenings.)
(I've also contrived to put on six pounds in the last month. Not all of this is due to ice cream: some is croissants and some is wine. To combat it, have bought a water bottle which I shall keep filled and handy through the day.)