I’ve only seen the short stubby little dandelions that sprout up in awkward places on the lawn. Always as unwanted visitors. Does anyone other than an herbalist actually cultivate them? Intentionally grow a nice little patch of them just because they’re a cheery little species?
I think not. We employ gardeners to dig them out. We use toxic chemicals to remove them from our otherwise perfect lawns. They show up in by-the-way places. They seem to thrive in roadside patches of hard dry dirt that aren’t tended to or irrigated; that have been paved over with asphalt. Improbable places.
So I saw this random growth of dandelion on the edge of a parking lot. It clearly wasn’t planted there by design but there it grew nonetheless. And the stems were so long and slender as if it had done its very best to grow higher—to rise above happenstance in this utterly unglamorous location.
Here’s to all the dandelions who despite less than ideal circumstances have elected to grow taller, reach higher and lift their faces toward the sun. Somehow finding hydration enough to thrive, sunshine enough to stay vividly lemon hued. In a final season (or is it?) finding a grace to release their seeds of future potential on a gentle wind. Out into the wild they go and will grow in palace gardens and the awkward places alike. Carried on a breeze they start again and again and again. After all, Bob Dylan received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2016. You never know. . . that just may be where a little blowing in the wind will lead.