Cutting her off at the knees, I snap the straw-like spine of her lithe body. Her feet are still planted in the ground, toes digging deep in a lasting act of defiance. Holding the thin torso, I swirl the massacred top half, head bowing delicately between my fingers. Raising it before my face, my lips curl. I breathe a huge lungful of air. Hot breath assaults the soft head and AWAY!

The seed pods fly on snow white wings. The dandelion, decapitated, bald, lays discarded in the grass.

*** *** ***

For as long as humans have measured time, we have blown dandelions to count out the seconds, minutes, hours until the dream might come true.

Actually, that’s a bit of BS.

I have NO idea how these seed-pod filled blooms became associated with wishes or time. BUT I do know that dandelions are symbolic of our dreams, intricately bound with the idea that time is on our side. Scattering our wishes to the four winds is such a wonderfully romantic notion, and also a very fun past time!

My wish was always to become an author. I’d take a big breath and blow those little feathery seed capsules, watching them scatter into the air and fly away to… Well, I’m not sure WHERE they went. To the Fae? Did THEY grant the wishes? And when would it happen? One year? Two years? Three? How might my lung capacity tell me how long the Fairies would make me wait? So many questions, and no amount of time could tell me.

As an adult, my time has become measured in more methodical ways. More scientific, measured, accountable ways, though it is just as hopeful, as I found out over the weekend, when I spent a good hour blowing dandelions with the kids. The sheer variety of dreams and timelines astounded me. It was inspiring. And it got me thinking…

No amount of time will crush a dream.

Just because you blow off an idea, doesn’t mean it leaves you. Not really. Those little seeds will sprout and, if you’re lucky, they might even reappear in your life to decorate your garden. You will enjoy them, your kids and grandkids and who knows how many others might hold the dream in their hand?

THIS is why I dream and why I write.