The First Dandelion, March 12th, 1888

Simple and fresh and fair from winter’s close
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics,
had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter’d grass—
innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring’s first dandelion shows its trustful

Walt Whitman

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My daughter loves dandelions. She has a hawk’s eye for them and is compelled to pick them and send their seeds flying through the air with one breath. Her love for them has rubbed off on me. I see them everywhere now.  They remind me to let go and enjoy the ride.  Or rather…wouldn’t it be fun to grab onto a pappus and see where it takes you?

Life is the dancer and you are the dance. -E.T.