Somewhere, a book once said, all the tales ever told, every song ever sung, still lingers, vibrating through space. If you could travel to far Centauri, you might hear George Washington talking in his sleep or Caesar being surprised by the knife in his back. That's the power of sound. But what about light?
    It doesn't simply die; no, it transcends. All things, once seen, perhaps reside in the dripping, multi-boxed honeycombs where light turns into an amber sap, stored by pollen-fired bees. Or in the thirty-thousand lenses of the noon dragonfly's gem-studded skull, where you might discover all the colors and sights of the world in any given year.
   Imagine pouring a single drop of this dandelion wine beneath a microscope; perhaps the entire world of July Fourth would erupt in Vesuvius-like showers of fireworks.

Ray Bradbury, Dandelion wine
Spring 2023