The summer of ’28 was a vintag season for a growing boy. A summer of green apple trees, mowed lawns, and new sneakers. Of half-burnt firecrackers, of gathering dandelions, of Grandma’s belly-busting dinner. It was a summer of sorrows and marvels and gold-fuzzed bees.
Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine
“I’m really alive! he thought. I never knew it before, or if I did I don’t remember!”