Dandelion

October 26, 2007
By
The meadow stretches on, towards the faintly glowing horizon. The little girl makes fragile scribbles in her notebook, writing a simple poem to her relative. It is a pleasant, sunny afternoon, the sun’s rays tickling her cheeks. The girl observes a butterfly couple, floating lazily towards the white fence that was an enclosure from the rest of the world. And then she sees it. Not far off, in a sea of green, one single dandelion sways with the breeze. It looks very lonely, no other of it’s kind nearby. The girl leaves her work behind, slowly, step-by-step, she approaches the weed that has captivated many children’s innocence and curiosity. She knows where the dandelion is resting from the guidance of its round white head, which seems to be waving to her. For a moment, her large round eyes just stare at it. Nothing could argue with her attention. The girl decided that there was nothing more practical than rescuing the poor thing and giving the dandelion a friend. She quickly pulls the skinny green stalk from the ground and raises the globe of petite seeds to her lips. With a swift and gentle blow, the pearly seeds burst from their home and follow the wind. The girl laughs, thinking that this resembles fluffy and sparse snow. As the parade leaves the meadow she waves.





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