Fog in the hollows
On a weekend retreat right now. At a state park in the mountains. Extended family along. My seven-year-old niece allowed me to read to her from Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine. I read one of the chapters about Leo Auchenslauss, or whatever he name is, endeavoring to make a happiness machine.
I was surprised that my little niece was so content to let me read on. I don’t know whether she was following the story or if she was just tired enough to allow herself to be lulled by the sound of my voice and the rhythm of Bradbury’s nostalgic prose. What I do know is this: reading is magic.
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