While I anticipate the oncome of warm weather, I lament the disappearance of the seasons that accomodate listening to Agalloch. Since it's rotten outside, and it's approaching two in the morning, I can listen to them and not feel like the atmosphere is out of place; however, in a month or so, if not less, it'll feel strange putting on an Agalloch album, unless it's fairly late and I'm dreaming of vast, possibly wooded expanses.

As much as I love it, I hate seasonal music. Brant Bjork is not for the winter, and Agalloch is not for the summer. (No, it's not even close to summer, but we're in Texas, folks. Lone Star weather obeys no meteorological laws.)

My God, Agalloch fills a void. Or expands it, depending on how you assess the situation. Sometimes it's both.