Ray Bradbury passed away yesterday. I am saddened by the loss of one of my childhood heros, and my heart goes out to his family and friends. My earliest memories of being truly intrigued by a book came from him.  The book was  Something  Wicked This Way Comes. I was captured by the brooding recklessness of Jim Nightshade, perhaps because I was much more like Will Halloway. I thrilled to the words on those pages, and was astounded at how they left something, lingering behind.

I read every Bradbury work I could get my hands on after that. My favorites were The Martian Chronicles,  I Sing The Body Electric, A Sound of Thunder, and, well, many, many others.  If you have read only Fahrenheit 451, perhaps because it was required reading in school, I recommend you delve into some of this other works.  Often dark, often funny, always poignant. His imagination, his stories, and his imagery have inspired me in my own writing. And we are all fortunate that he has left those gifts behind.

Rest in peace, Mr. Bradbury.  And thank you for your enduring inspiration.

Though I am old and wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

~W.B. Yeats, The Wind Among the Reeds