Poking out from the edge of a curb, a dandelion awoke, and was greeted by a winter that was unexpectedly warm.
It felt its feather-like bristles ruffled, ready to take flight at any moment.
The dandelion stiffened its stem and grabbed the dirt more firmly with its skeletal roots.
It searched through the soil for gossips, instructions, magic, hope, anything to stop that horrible floating sensation, or at least an explanation on the unbearable heat, or better yet its destiny.
The tiny weed was incapable of contenting itself a lowly weed, for the few seconds it emerged from darkness and took a breath, the dandelion was convinced royalty was its calling.
Just like the hardwood that towered above the squabbling shrubs, sheltering squirrels, nesting sparrows, and battling storms – Life itself in the most majestic form.
The fluffy plant was drawn in like a moth to flames, a desire to have the unattainable, and failing so, to perish under the shadow of greatness.
It chose a moment when the wind was mild and distracted, and shifted its dew to the tip of its right leaf.
A light breeze tilted the plant like a lever, and little tutus floated away to anywhere the wind fancies, just like destiny intended.
In some stories, these seedlings became the fairies of the ancient forest, just 10 miles from the squatters that would be tore down to make way for a luxurious retreat; in one prophecy these foreign dandelions were the key to save an endangered species of the blue-eyed snake, presently unimportant but a great distress to the entire ecosystem when the emerald skunks, now freed from predators, poisoned the air and turned the forest into a battleground trap for enemies on the east border, killing millions and began the Emerald East Wars.
At the side of a road with no name, a stalky tree was surrounded by dandelions, all pretty and dainty under its shade.
It was a comfortable life – the dandelions feeling special gathering in a blissful embrace, and the tree feeling special basking in a submissive softness.