I love dandelions.
The ones who push themselves up through impossible cracks in the sidewalk.
The ones who pop up in manicured lawns, uninvited on a complacent Sunday morning, disrupting the illusion.
The ones running free on a hillside, ignorant of mowers and blades.
The ones who get picked, sprayed, and poisoned and still come back.
The ones clutched in grubby fat fists and given in pure love to the most beautiful woman they know.
The ones wilting silently in a short glass jar in the classroom.
The old ones – bright sunny faces turned to gray fluff, ready to spread wishes.
Unwanted by most, but loved by those who really see.
Tough.
Fragile.
Persistent.
Dandelions are like me.
saving the dandelions 