A land where there are no seasons, but where sunshine and shade are so distinctly marked that one can be easily half baked on one side and dangerously chilled on the other.
Then the Climate--spell it with a capital, and then try to think of an adjective worthy to precede it.

Glorious! Delicious! Incomparable! Paradisaical!!! To a tenderfoot straight from New Hampshire, where we have nine months of winter and three of pretty cold weather, where we have absolutely but three months that are free from frost, this seems like enchanted ground.
A climate warm, with a constant refreshing coolness in its heart; cool, with a latent vivifying warmth forever peeping out of its coat-tail pocket.
June does not define it, nor September.

It has no synonym, for there is nothing like it.

I am glad that I have lived to see hedges of heliotrope, of geraniums and calla-lilies.

I remember, in contrast, solitary calla plants that I have nursed with care all winter in hopes of one blossom for Easter.