The dandelion dances gently in the afternoon breeze. Petal-less, it grows leaps beyond the other grasses; straight up reaching for the warm rays of the sun.
According to the lawn mower, it mustn’t be there and its stem gets ruthlessly cut down to size, to match the length of the other grasses.
But it grows, again, this time with mates around it. Some grow up, some grow out, some fork, and some have many heads.
Again, the lawn mower cuts it down to size. The one thing is that no matter how many times the lawn mower comes along, the base of the plant is deeply rooted in the soil, waiting to soar high once again.
Sometimes I feel like the dandelion, and as the name suggests with ‘lion’, it is strong and brave. It will continue to grow no matter how many times it is chopped down. Upward, toward the sunlight.