Monday, 18 April 2011
My Lawn is Full of Dandelions
My lawn is full of dandelions.
Glowing in the sunlight, shivering in the breeze. My lawn is full of golden treasure...
The lawnmower died last summer, and the once-tidy green expanse outside my window suffered a series of disastrous patchy scalpings for the rest of the year as I struggled to tame it with the strimmer.
This spring I have not yet cut the grass, which has suddenly spurted into growth. It is beautiful, lush, green - thick with dandelions, daintily dotted with lady's smock and nodding cowslips.
My neighbour used to wage war on dandelions each spring, pulling them up and chopping them down in a furious and futile battle to contain their exuberance and stop them spreading little parachute-puff seeds far and wide.
My neighbour passed away. The dandelions nonchalantly survived her feverish assaults and have spread with joyous, reckless abandon.
Now bees bumble contentedly as they feast on the abundant, incandescent blooms, and swallows swoop, chattering gleefully in the blue spring sky.
I put the strimmer away, unused for another day, and go to lie among the dandelions in the warm, damp grass.