Dandelion Wine

And here's an excerpt from Bradbury's Dandelion Wine, because I've been thinking about summer and endings and last poems for several days now:

Douglas and Tom and Charlie came panting along the unshaded street.
“Tom, answer me true, now.”
“Answer what true?”
“Whatever happened to happy endings?”
“They got them on shows at Saturday matinees.”
“Sure, but what about life?”
“All I know is I feel good going to bed nights, Doug. That’s a happy ending once a day. Next morning I’m up and maybe things go bad. But all I got to do is remember that I’m going to bed that night and just lying there a while makes everything okay.”
“I’m talking about Mr. Forrester and old Miss Loomis.”
“Nothing we can do; she’s dead.”
“I know! But don’t you figure someone slipped up there?”
“You mean about him thinking she was the same age as her picture and her a trillion years old all the time? No sir, I think it’s swell!”
“Swell, for gosh sakes?”
“The last few days when Mr. Forrester told me a little here and a little there and I finally put it all together—boy, did I bawl my head off. I don’t even know why. I wouldn’t change one bit of it. If you changed it, what would we have to talk about? Nothing.”
“You just won’t admit you like crying, too. You cry just so long and everything’s fine. And there’s your happy ending. And you’re ready to go back out and walk around with folks again. And it’s the start of gosh-knows-what-all! Any time now, Mr. Forrester will think it over and see it’s just the only way and have a good cry and then look around and see it’s morning again, even though it’s five in the afternoon.”
“That don’t sound like no happy ending to me.”
“A good night’s sleep, or a ten-minute bawl, or a pint of chocolate ice cream, or all three together, is good medicine, Doug. You listen to Tom Spaulding, M.D.”
“Shut up, you guys,” said Charlie. “We’re almost there!”
They turned a corner.
Deep in winter, they had looked for bits and pieces of summer and found it in furnace cellars or in bonfires on the edge of frozen skating ponds at night. Now, in summer, they went searching for some little bit, some piece of the forgotten winter.