In The Waste Land, T.S. Elliot wrote that "April is the cruelest month." Growing up in Michigan it was certainly true: sick of snow after six months of it, we would see sunny days with warm temperatures, followed on closely by a one-foot snow fall.
September is like that here. Just when I'm thinking that if we get one more day of solid rain, the pets are going to mildew, I see the sunshine and everything starts to dry out. I put on my shoes, look for the dog's leash, and get ready to stretch my legs finally with a nice dog walk down through the Turkish compound. But by the time I'm ready to go, the black clouds are blowing up behind the house. So I wait for a minute, and the temperature drops 10 degrees, the wind picks up, and it hails. Two hours later it's sunny again and we get ready to make a break for it, only to repeat the process. One time I just said to heck with it and headed out. It gave the locals one more stupid-ferenge story to tell: the soaked white guy who didn't know enough to come in out of the rain.