Monday, May 22, 2006


It is May, now, the season of dandelions.

And I am reminded of the May in the spring of my seventh year. One day on the way to school I picked glowing bunches of dandelions, and delivered one to each teacher in every classroom. I would not have done this on my own; I was shy and spent most of the time in a private fantasy world. But on that sunny day the dandelions spoke between worlds and issued an invitation. I was merely the bearer of it.

Dandelions proliferate; their flowers glow as surely as the sun. Their seeds billow wantonly; their sap is bitter. But dandelion leaves and roots are edible when new. Their stems are made easily into rings and chains. The globe of seeds is referred to as a dandelion clock. And in this way each blown seed marks an hour of spring, another hour of childhood passing as swiftly as the clouds that flow across the horizon in figures of shadow and light.

(Dandelion photograph taken by gin_able; used under the aegis of a Creative Commons license. )

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