The DandeLions

In the garden, against the fence, was the largest dandelion Francesca had ever seen.

She stared at it, enchanted.

Francesca took Mummy to see the dandelion.

“Blow,” said Mummy, “Find out what time it is.”

“No, I want to leave it like that forever.”

“It won’t stay like this forever,” said Mummy.

Francesca wanted to keep the dandelion. She brought Daddy to see it.

“Why are they called dandelions? They don’t look like lions.”

“I don’t know,” said Daddy.

“I suppose their fluff does look a little bit like lions’ manes,” said Francesca.

“The seeds will make new flowers,” said Mummy.

“What kind of flowers?”

“Dandelions, of course, my darling, the same as this.”

It was windy that night. Francesca couldn’t sleep. The wind blew through leaves and around sharp corners of the house with an unfriendly roar. Moonlight shone in through a crack between the curtains.

“Mummy!” she called, but Mummy didn’t hear.

“Daddy!” she called. He slept.

Francesca was wide awake. She got out of bed and went to the window. The moon lit the garden. Trees waved their branches in the wind, making moonlight patterns with their leaves. Strange shadows spiralled across the lawn and down to the fence. Francesca thought she could see the dandelion dancing against the fence like a little lantern. Leaf shadows and dry leaves swirled in the grass. Francesca stared at the garden. It was difficult to tell if her eyes were working properly in the twisting moonlight. 

Dry leaves twirled up to the fence and Francesca stared as a row of tiny lions came dancing from the stem of the flower one after another, manes fluffy in the wind. Their coats were perfectly brushed and leaf garlands circled their necks. Close behind each other the lions made their wavering way across the garden, leaning first one way, then the other as fingers of wind pushed at them. They came to the middle of the lawn. A gust of wind lifted them into the air.

Francesca leaned her forehead against the glass and strained her eyes to see. They were going away. She opened the window a little. “Come back,” she called. The dandelions floated as high as the trees. Francesca started to cry. “Don’t go!”

One of the dandelions floated closer. It came to Francesca and kissed her cheek with its soft mane. Then it disappeared into the darkness.

Francesca climbed back into bed. 

In the morning, she went into the garden. Down at the fence, the dandelion stalk drooped sadly. “They’ve gone,” said Francesca, “Over the fence and away.”

“Are you sad?” asked Mummy.

“No,” said Francesca.