ball of wishes

Each summer as a child, our field would fill with dandelions, polka-dotting the green with bright yellow spots (I am sure it still does, but my Dad always mows the field before we get there.  You know, tidying up and such!).  We would collect them by the arm-load and string them together for floral crowns, necklaces and bracelets.  Sometimes we strung them as garlands across our pine-branch forts as a sort of decoration.

As summer edged toward it's end, the blackberries ripened and the dandelions turned to balls of wishes.  I would often get down on my tummy to get a good angle, fill up my lungs, and wish with all my might as a blew the seeds and their little parachutes across the browning field.   I don't recall what I wished for, all those summers.  Perhaps it was for the latest New Kids on the Block backpack or more neon pink scrunchies.

Now, when I see a dandelion, perfectly orbed in seeds, I am often struck by it's power of optimism:  I could wish for anything.  Anything at all.  What will you wish for?