This book is magic.
I’ve heard it said that it’s more difficult to talk about the things you love than those you hate. The same could be said for Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine, a novel so decadent in language and style that I have a hard time explaining it without falling into a trance.
I have been meaning to read some more Bradbury—add this one to the list
Relaxing at Robert Moses Beach under a hat in Long Island, New York.