Tenacity by Bernie Jordan

Dandelion determinedly toughs it out in an abandoned street, between a paving slab and a crumbling wall. Her root rucks the road with a cracked ridge that lets in rain.

Sticking it out through a dreary winter is no mean feat, but days lengthen, and her leaves spear up to the sun. She is fed by the scent-sprays of passing dogs; her tight- lipped bud rises, loosens and unfurls. She enters the glorious gladness of a bright spring day.

With a flourish of her dazzling skirt her beauty is revealed. She dances, between some determined daffodils and a crazy crisp packet, until she is kissed by a passing bee. His tongue dips into her hollows, tasting her sweetness again and again.

Now her womb closes like a tomb, her petals wither, her seeds mature. Soon they can be confined no longer. She briefly holds a globe of grace that is broken into countless pieces by the breath of a hot wind. Seeds are taken far and high then glide down, settling new roots in the least hospitable places. Dandelion has spawned a tribe of tenacious colonists, each carving its niche in concrete, brick or lawn.

Time passes, seasons turn, and life begins anew.