Many people, see dandelions as pesky. I don't. They want that manicured, all green front lawn. They use RoundUp (bleh) to achieve this goal. The lawn rolls in tiny squares that never quite seem to come together, like that man made edge just has to stick around mocking the homeowners for years to come. "That's right, you can't walk on me all summer," the lawn says defiantly.
I like the dandelion. It teaches; it perseveres. I've watched them blossom. Their short cycle is inextricably lovely. They spring up protecting themselves with large jagged leaves, bloom bold and yellow, close themselves from the outside, then metamorphose into a lovely white puff. Nora and I often pick the white flowers and help the process of the dandelions along.
I can only hope my own cycles are so simple and productive. I can only hope that I protect myself and my thoughts until I am ready to spread them to others, that I can make a bold statement without trying, that the wind and sun can be integral parts of my existence.