Light As a Dandelion

When I was a young girl, the dandelions that appeared in our neighborhood captivated me. I spent countless hours walking down the street plucking the dandelions from the ground, bringing them home and placing the yellow-flowered stems in a water-filled Mason jar. Sometimes I gathered them into a bouquet and gave them as presents to my parents or friends. Occasionally, I’d snatch a dandelion stem containing a fluffy white blowball and bring it to my face, examining its delicate symmetry before blowing the white seeds into the air and making a dandelion wish. I was but a child then, carefree and light like a wispy, white blowball. I’m an adult now, no longer quite as lighthearted or worry-free. Yet, I still delight in making dandelion wishes. I’m a ball of tense living, a tumbleweed with steel-toed shoes. Can’t remember the last time, I felt light as a dandelion.