The sun beats down on a withered glade. The air is hot and hazy as
though a fire burned from somewhere nearby. The ground is dry and
cracked. Dead grass is scattered in tufts ignored by even the heartiest
of herbivores. The glade is quiet and appears lifeless except for a
single dot of yellow surrounded by a small oasis of green. As I
approach I hear someone quietly weeping and I see the dot of yellow
gently shake. I move closer and the dot of yellow resolves itself into a
dandelion. It is small and hardy. Its leaves withered and yellow at the
edges like old lace. Its head is bent and shaking slightly. I kneel to
look closer and the dandelion's head snaps up in surprise. Her eyes
are large and amber colored, brightly lit as though the sun were passing
through them. The silence stretches between us. Insects buzz around
indifferent to our standoff while a faint rustling can be heard in the
trees. “Why are you crying, dandelion?”
The dandelion's
eyes grow wider, her leaves slack in terror before sobs take her over
once more. “Come now, there's no need to cry. Tell me what is
wrong.”
The flower throws its leaves up in despair and
exasperation.“No need to cry?” She screams in a voice so faint
that the gentle brushing of leaves in the wind was like static on a
poorly tuned radio over her voice. “The ground is dead! Autumn
will come and my children will have no place to take root.” She looks
at me again with eyes like honey while enormous yellow tinged tears leak
down the petals of her face.
“I think I have an answer to your
plight, mother dandelion.” But she ignores me and stares into her
leaves as if they might hold an answer for her sorrow. I return later in
the evening with an old coffee can and a gardening spade. The sun is
setting over the trees and the haze has lit up in the brilliance of a
burning sunset. A deep crimson light painted in oranges and browns
colors the glade as if the sun were determined to finish off the last
life here with the only fire it could throw between itself and the
earth.
I find the dandelion again. She is still with eyes wide
staring into the fire of the setting sun. “I have come back
with my answer, mother dandelion. I will save you from the summer. You
will come and live with me in my garden.” She slowly turns her
head towards me, eyes still lingering on the sun. Her sorrow is painted
like blood upon her petals. The sun setting in her face. “Why do
you care human? I am a weed, in one summer I will fill your garden with
my children.”
"It is because I am human that I care." And with
that I pushed the spade into the dusty earth and took the dandelion
home. The dandelion put up little protest. The setting sun had caused
her petals to close. Her eyes drooping the last thing she saw was the
darkened glade diminishing with the sunset.
I planted the
dandelion in my garden and went to sleep that night peaceful. When I
awoke I went to greet the dandelion but she did not open up. I called
her but there was no answer. I watered her but went ignored. Many days
passed and she would not open. I feared that she may have died and
worried that I had done the wrong thing till the morning of the summer
equinox. The day Autumn starts I found the mother dandelion crying once
more. Her head was full, a white puff of seeds ready to drift away with
the wind. “Why do you cry now, Mother Dandelion?” I asked. “Because
there is hope.” She replied, “As long as you are here there will always
be hope.”
A breeze ruffled her leaves and she shook her head. Her
main of white disengaged and became a cloud of feather light down
drifting to land amongst the potted plants and raised beds. The
dandelion sighed and looked at peace. A mothers smile turning the
corners of her mouth. In spring my garden will bloom again and be
full of bright yellow dots of hope.
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