Wishes

Regarding dandelions, I feel ambivalence.

Cons:
Dandelions are considered a weed.
They stink.
They grow profusely, taking over yards and fields and highway medians.

Pros:
Dandelions are bright.
They scream, "It's spring!" after what has usually been a very long, very cold, very dark winter.
They grow profusely, taking over yards and fields and highway medians.

Plus, I love how dandelions seed. I like looking out over a field of smoky dandies in sunset, feeling the silky fuzz between my fingers, blowing hard on the seeds in hope of a thousand wishes.

I think the pros win. Except, why, oh why, must people be allergic to dandelions?

Autumn

At home, the sumac bushes burn with color. I take a walk in the field behind our house over school break, trying to capture fall with a camera. But my lens can't hold autumn.

The acrid smoke, the cold, the crunch of leaves under my feet, the foggy puffs of my breath: my lens fails.

I love fall. I like to watch Nature stretch as God tucks her in for the night, lowering His voice to the whisper of winter. I see her bare and break and freeze, and I hear her rustling as she settles under the covers, trusting.

Frankly, I'm a little envious of autumn. It's a struggle for me to trust so simply. It is hard to die each day in want of rebirth. I don't like baring my soul.

But I want to be broken more than anything. And I see the leaves, falling.

It's time.