…at play in the fields of the Lord

…at play in the fields of the Lord.

Today is a sad day. I found out one of my heroes passed away: the great Ray Bradbury. I am reading an old interview with him from the Paris Review:

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6012/the-art-of-fiction-no-203-ray-bradbury

This was a man I would have loved to have known and whom I would have cherished as a beloved respected and admired friend. I loved his art, his lyricism, his rich ideas, his magic, his keen psychological insight, his unabashed optimism of humanity to overcome external obstacles and internal foibles, his unflinching criticism of the dark aspects of both society and the individual, and that remarkable inspiring compassion—that strength to love and forgive and thrive after lethal attack or tremendous loss or despicable treachery. His writings were sweet epiphanies of the grandeur of the human soul that kept one ever-watchful eye fixed on its abysmal darker elements. Bradbury hammered out truth when he tapped on his typewriter and also delicately embroidered his lovely works with an impeccable sense of rhythm, symbol, style, metaphor, and sound—all of the tropes at a writer’s disposal were his to command with a master’s inimitable deftness. He was a genius. He was a man. He was a beautiful free spirit. 

The world is poorer and darker without his presence, but I will re-visit one of his marvelous works and let his incandescent words once again light a path for me through the darkness….

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