September's First Monday
Careful not to stumble on thick green sod, I stop and slowly bend to pluck a dandelion still yellow among dozens with globes of blow-away seeds. Holding the rubbery thread of stem between thumb and forefinger, I inhale scents of grass and earth cleansed by last night's rain. Sun-warmed downy petals stroke my cheek. The flower's crown wobbles.
in the cup of my hand