Can't believe it's been a year since Ray passed. RIP.
52 years ago I stumbled across my Mr. Electrico.
His words made my hair stand on end and sparks fly. They still do.
But it would be another 50 years before I found Ray Bradbury, or Uncle Ray as I always think of him, and that was a greater discovery still, and I am still discovering him every day. And every day he teaches me something more about life and myself, even at my age.
I have never understood why, when I finish one of his stories I have tears in my eyes, yet I am smiling.
A year ago today (it was June 6 here in UK) I heard on BBC radio news that we had lost Ray. There was an impact and a huge deflation, then an emptiness of cosmic proportions, yet for this stranger I had grown to love there was somehow no grief, no mourning, for Ray had enjoyed over 91 years of happiness, had found the fountain of youth and dived recklessly in every day, yelling at the top of his lungs. Who has ever had such a wonderful life?
Surely if Ray had one thing to teach us it was not how to write. It was how to live.
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