Remember childhood, when the small things evoked excitement and the big things, elation?
Dandelions for instance. Dandelions seemed almost magical to me, their spores like little fairies. I have always loved dandelions. Related to them even: free-spirited, adventurous and scattered-brained. Surely I vexed many a homeowner west of the wind because that weed when bare is not barren. At 28, I still stop to pluck those fuzzy fertile balls. When I can’t bend down for pregnancy or ergo, I sidestep to kick them or ask the favor of my toddler.
But alas the years have mellowed me and I contain my excitement far too easily now. Rarely can I recapture that jubilant expression welling up and 
bursting out with the jumping and the skyward laugh. I have actually wished that I could experience the joy of dandelions for the first time again. What would I do?
Recently, I encountered a stalky weed loaded with warty pods. I had pulled over where there should have been a scenic overlook and noticed the fuzz hanging out of one. I waded curiously into the tall grass and peeled it open. Actually, I peeled several open- like ten. They were packed with great white feathery spores… like giant wrong-side-out dandelions! I blew them out into the field; I threw them up into the air; I cupped handfuls and blew them like pixie dust over and over.
What excites Heather? A lake cruise? No. The top of Rockefeller Center? Nah. White fluffy floaty things over hay bales and local vistas. Yes! Admittedly, I didn’t snort or click my heels, but I did some giggling and may have bounced a little in joy of my discovery. Childlike.
