Ray Bradbury died on Wednesday. Growing up, he was one of my favourite authors. His short stories were perfect. It was the science-fiction that grabbed me, but often the everyday that stayed. They were sinister, nostalgic, inventive and always beautifully written. Writing that was dripping with both lemon and honey. His death meant there was no other flavour I could open, and we raised our glasses to him. Dandelion Wine is a wonderful book and one that I only read last year. It is full of honest and truth, hearkening back to a childhood in small town America. I will be pulling Ray Bradbury from my bookshelves over the next few weeks and reminding myself of his brilliance.