My father was a doctor. We never got the doctoring bug. He never spoke to us about medicine. Instead, he took us on road trips and taught us to play catch, even me. When we were little, he would read ... [+]
"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