The Lonely Dandelion (A Hardy Plant)

Brother Charlie has submitted a story from the point of view of his Herbal Buddy.

I am a lonely dandelion. My roots expand below me and around me, sapping the precious little moisture from the earth. It hasn't rained in a while, but I'm fine. I am a hardy plant. I can survive anything. But I'm lonely. There was once another dandelion on the other side of the path. We waved to each other in the breeze. Sometimes I dared to dream of our roots stretching to one another, and I worked towards this goal with each day. But one day, a tall, rootless, leafless tree came along and carelessly ripped up my friend from the ground, roots and all. And now I'm lonely again. Lonely and sad. The sun only touches my petals for a short time each day, as it glistens through the tall, elderly trees around me. They are much older than I. They need it more, they say. Greedy, I should think. But it's okay. I am a hardy plant. I once survived being sprayed by something that made me shrivel into myself. The fumes were in my veins for weeks, and I struggled mightily against the desire to fade to nothing. But I'm fine. I'm a hardy plant. I shed my wilted leaves and grew back twice as strong. Sometimes I wonder why I grew here all on my own. I've heard stories from nearby plants of fields full of dandelions just like me. Whole communities of dandelions, with families and roots all connected. I wonder how my seeds ended up here, on this lonely stretch of nowhere. Disconnected from others like me. But I'm fine. I'm a hardy plant. I once survived being trampled. My stem bent in several places, my leaves turned mushy. But I grew back twice as strong. I was once plucked from the ground. I survived for a few moments as the rootless tree carried me away down the path, slowly plucking my petals from my head, counting off in a quiet language that is not my own. "He loves me, he loves me not". I died for a short while. But it's okay. I'm a hardy plant. My roots were still alive, and I grew back twice as strong. One day, my petals turned fuzzy grey, and slowly the breeze stole them away one by one. I thought maybe it was finally my time. I grew back next spring, and to my surprise and delight, I was surrounded by dozens of dandelions in a field of my own.

Brother Charlie Hester