People we love (and who love us) are fragile, fleeting treasures — like dandelions . . . sturdy, yellow-gold gems one moment; delicate, ghost-like memories in the wind, the next.
Sunday Meditation 31

My grandson’s favourite pastime, at the moment, is picking dandelions, blowing and squealing in delight when the light fluffy seeds take flight.It seems but a blink of an eye to when I was watching my own children do the same.

We call dandelions, nature’s clocks and I often have the urge to tell him not to be in such a hurry to wish time away. Selfishly, I wish time would stand still.

This is so beautiful j.s.lamb, thank you.

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