Fields of Dandelions

I am fortunate enough to drive past several fields of dandelions on my drive to and from work. And every time I do I smile. I know some of you may question my sanity but my family won't. You see, my father loved dandelions. He never understood how someone had decided to define them as a weed. He would pick handfuls of them (along with the purple thistle flower and other flowers some might define as weeds) and present the bouquets to my mother. He was a very scientific, intellectual man but he did have an eye for beauty and his bouquets could stand up against any professional bouquet ever created.

I miss him, especially in springtime. He loved spring. (Incidentally, he also marked on the calendar the first day he heard a frog croak in the summer.)

I hope I never drive by a field of dandelions without thinking of him.