Dandelions captivate me.
Sometimes they are a field of tiny yellow suns brightening an empty lot.
They seem to sprout up in the most unlikely places. In small cracks in the sidewalk. Next to an abandoned building or in the cinder block wall. They thrive where they land, without the coddling or TLC that are usually lavished on typical landscaping.
As delicate white puffballs they are metaphors for possibility. Perfect rounds of magical stars beckon, urging breath. As we wish, tiny seeds take flight, swirling in the wind, dancing in the sunlight, spread by hope often in the spirit of play.
And yes, I know they are frequently described as weeds, despised by many. I watch my husband mow them down, dig them out, and cast swear words in their direction. But still they thrive…much to my delight.
They catch light and my imagination…and on today’s walk they also caused me to pause, to notice, and to photograph. And to come home and write.
Poetic. Dandelions hold promises.
I love them too! And I always wonder who cast them as weeds. Because they could have been cast as lovely little flowers!
There is something beautiful about them, about their perseverance and change. I was thinking about how a child’s impression of a dandelion as a magical object of seeds is different from an adult’s perspective of a pesky weed. I prefer the poetry of the seeds in the flight.
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