Dapper in a topcoat and tails, feet moving fast and graceful as birds skimming still waters, he whirled and swooped, catching my mother, still young and slim, by the waist, bending her backward. She ... [+]
"This is a fruit of every season which carries the scent of its travels..." My grandfather often repeated this little phrase to me when he was talking about his clouds. He has the best collection of clouds I have ever seen. What's more, he‘s the only person I know who collects clouds. But he calls it "harvesting"—he thinks it sounds better. So for years my grandfather has been harvesting clouds. He sets off in the early morning, when they are waking up and leaving their bed in the fir trees to climb back up into the sky. They always leave bits caught on the branches of the trees. In my grandfa