"Sunsets we always liked because they only happen once and go away." "But, Lena, that's sad." "No, if the sunset stayed and we got bored, that would … - Ray Bradbury

Our civilization is flinging itself to pieces. Stand back from the centrifuge.

And from above a voice fused half in iron Half in irony gives man a dreadful choice. The role is his, it says, Man makes and loads his own strange dice, They sum at his behest, He dooms himself. He is his own sad jest. Let go? Let be? Why do you ask this gift from Me? When, trussed and bound and nailed, You sacrifice your life, your liberty You hang yourself upon the tenterhook. Pull free!

And there, row upon row, with the soft gleam of flowers opened at morning, with the light of this June sun glowing through a faint skin of dust, would stand the dandelion wine. Peer through it at the wintry day - the snow melted to grass, the trees were reinhabitated with bird, leaf, and blossoms like a continent of butterflies breathing on the wind. And peering through, color sky from iron to blue.

Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in