All Summer in a Day

Did you know that by our definition, a day on Venus is longer than a year?  Venus spins slower on its axis than it goes around the sun.  Last night, during the transit of Venus, my husband commented that this idea would make an excellent Sci Fi premise, and he was sure someone must have done it.

 Trying to capture the Venus Transit last night: you can't see it, but this is right as Venus began to pass across the sun.

A few hours later, I realized that someone had done it, sort of.  All Summer in a Day explores a colony on Venus, waiting seven earth years for one day of sunshine.  It was written, of course, by the incomparable Ray Bradbury.

I woke up this morning to the sound of soft rain, and I was still thinking about the story when the sun broke through the clouds and the rain stilled.

And then I learned that Mr. Bradbury passed away last night.

I had the strange triple relationship with his work as a reader, a teacher, and finally, a writer.  I remember reading Dandelion Wine in high school: I found it beautiful and confusing, because at seventeen, I didn't understand the power of nostalgia.  Later, I picked up Fahrenheit 451,  and I became impassioned.  My favorite of his fictional titles, however, remains The Halloween Tree.  Haunting phrases like "sweet candy corn soul" still float through my mind.

That was the first Bradbury I attempted to teach, and unfortunately, the students didn't see the beauty.  One boy told me he couldn't read books about magic, and then proceeded to sit in the hall reading Harry Potter.  But their responses didn't diminish my own love for the book: I still read it every fall, slipping into the dark world of the delicious Mr. Moundshroud.

I also taught All Summer in a Day to three different years of students during my career, and they always, always, responded with passion.  Even the bullies among them were incensed at the behavior of the children in the story.

Finally, I experienced Mr. Bradbury as a writer.  I devoured his Zen in the Art of Writing as I was transitioning from full-time teacher to full-time writer, and his words fed my soul.

His work taught me to believe passionately in whatever I decided to believe.  He showed me the poetry that can bloom in prose, and he reminded me that craft isn't about the money: it's about doing what you love to keep your soul alive.


Rest in peace, Mr. Bradbury.  You may not be buried on Mars, but you left with Venus.