There’s a Ray Bradbury short story called In A Season Of Calm Weather about a man who dreams of owning an original work by Picasso. I won’t say any more—go look it up and read it—except that it might make you consider the idea of art as something intended to last. The truth is we leave our little marks upon the world and sometimes may intend them to be bulwarks against the ravages of time, but everything is ephemeral.
How original is the ‘snowfitti’ word. What you say is so true also!
It was a word that came to me when I saw that heart someone had drawn in the snow.
Ray Bradbury’s creativity and yours too, Chris, stay in my ephemeral heart.
I had never read that story. One of America’s greatest writers. I despair when I read any of Bradbury’s stuff.
I know what you mean. Bradbury made me want to be a writer. I have yet to even come close to being that good.
I adore Mr. Bradbury. I’m sure I’ve already bragged about it to you, but I’m going to again. He took me to lunch twice as a teenager. He was the best conversationalist. He told me that his dream was to build a library with an underground slide going into it like a rabbit hole. I want to build it before I die in his honor so more people will go out and read his words.
I don’t remember you mentioning that before and I’m pretty sure that’s the sort of thing I’d remember, but if you have bragged about it before I’m sorry and I’m glad you’re reminding me because that is amazing. It’s the sort of thing that makes me write in run-on sentences.
A library with an underground slide going in would be the perfect way to honor him.