Every summer, I crack open “Dandelion Wine,” and come fall, it’s “Something Wicked This Way Comes.”

This has been a ritual since junior high. You’d think the magic would wear off. No, Bradbury’s still got it. Guy was like the Wagner of words.

“Dandelion Wine” kicks off my summer right. Takes me back and makes me a kid again, running through the grass barefoot. Green Town, Illinois, isn’t Chicago, but Bradbury makes you wish it was. Life, distilled in a bottle; not bad for an old paperback.

Then autumn rolls in, and “Something Wicked” hits the table. Spooky carnival, Dust Witch, and Mr. Dark with his tats.

The seasons change, the books change, but the grip stays the same. You don’t get to unplug from Bradbury.

So why’s this guy still on my bookshelf over 50 years later? Simple. Bradbury doesn’t just write. The man’s an architect who builds worlds out of words with real characters who can sit next to you at a bar.

And damn, if he doesn’t nail the human condition. You laugh, you shiver, you wonder.

With every read, something new jumps out. It’s like finding an easter egg in a Tarantino film you’ve watched a dozen times. Bradbury keeps giving, doesn’t go stale. It’s a “Pulp Fiction” of feelings, a “Kill Bill” of imagination.

You can’t box Bradbury in. He’s timeless. Not just because he was a literary wizard but because he got people.

And as long as I’m around, summer won’t start without “Dandelion Wine,” and fall can’t begin without “Something Wicked.”

So here’s to another 50 years.