The dandelion sways in the breeze, gently cradled in between her fingertips. The fine white, feather like whips calling to her. Each piece is a spark. A hope. A wish waiting to be thrown out into the world. To become reality. She purses her lips, and closes her eyes. The breeze caresses her skin speaking the secrets of the world around her. The same sun of the past and present warms her skin, kissing it gently reminding her of it's ever present self. Her mind races. Flooded with wishes, of hopes, of desires unmet. With a great exhale she blows each, and every spore into the air. Fluttering around her like confetti at a party, the wishes, the hopes, and the desires swirl and intermingle in time with the sun, and dance in the presence of the wind. Delight fills her eyes and her smile encompasses her whole face.
Until...
Until...
That hope, those dreams, those desires fall ever so quickly back to the cold earth where they were destined to be, for they were nothing more than weeds. There, taking root in the ground, lay her foolish hopes, dreams, and desires turning into weeds. Weeds that devour the garden, eating up anything good that is left. In her garden, in the presence of dandelions, is where she learned to give up hope. Leave dreams untended, and ignore desire.
