Beloved Dandelions
This is my front lawn. Well, no, wait. That isn’t lawn, is it? ‘Lawn’ usually denotes Kentucky Bluegrass (the short, spindly and green kind, not the twangy, rich and bluesy).
This is my front yard. No, wait. That isn’t right either. I really don’t like the connotation of ‘my’ in reference to expanses of green (and yellow) even though, technically speaking, I do have a deed with my name on it alleging to cover this turf.
This is the bright expanse of green-and-yellow carpeting the yard in front of my home. I love these dandelions. Always have, even before the no-pesticide by-law prohibited folks in our township from poisoning them to death. I never did that. Year after year, these exhuberant yellow foot-soldiers have re-appeared, uninhibited by the likes of Round-Up or Weed-B-Gone. Granted, I have felt some unease knowing that their parachute-driven seeds might well infiltrate my neighbour’s pristine lawns, but that didn’t stop me. They won’t last, these sunny faces. Their days are numbered, but they will be followed by their siblings: sweet clover, buttercups, coltsfoot, blue weed, daisies, wild carrot, nodding thistle, chickweed, dames thistle. Later in the summer, the black-eyed susan and purple asters will come to the dance. Nature’s palette, lovely and fleeting.