The yellow flower opened, turned its head toward the sun. Breeze rushing along the sidewalk stirred its fragrance from its pedals.

A crack. The flower had found a small chink in the sidewalk and pushed up through it with determined strength. It didn’t matter that a thin layer of snow still covered the grass only a short distance away. Here, the walkway had been cleared and the sun warmed the concrete. Each day, the roots took hold a little deeper and let the flower stretch.

People walked by the flower, stepping right over it, never much noticing it. But there it was, early growth favoring the change of seasons. It offered hope for what was to come. And barely a person looked down at it and smiled back at its sunny face.

Poor dandelion.

But it didn’t have to remain. Nothing ever had to remain where it wasn’t appreciated. Yes, it had put down roots and would always be there, but the flower was also free.

It changed while no one cared.

Then one day, when the grass had melted of the snow, the breeze of someone’s step coming too close shook its seeds and they took to sky and floated in the air. Glinting in the sun, the pappus cared hope while no one was looking.