Weeds and Wishes

When I was a little girl, I called these wishing flowers, and a field of them beckoned to me with all the hopeful optimism of wishes soon to be granted.

I would pluck the stalk and hold it in my hands as I closed my eyes. A minute later, and my wish was made. I blew with all the recesses of air I could find in my body to dislodge the tiny seed pods with their fuzzy parachutes.

Tiny bits of fluff would take flight in the wind, carrying my wishes to far off places. I would watch them go, confident that in return for my services, my wishes would come true.

As an adult, I no longer see them as wishing flowers most days. I've succumbed to the grown-up/practical need to see weeds marring a nicely manicured suburban lawn.

But for a moment I set aside my practicality and knelt close to the wishing flower. I watched as the wind slowly blew away the seeds. My eyes trailed upward to follow the steady assent of optimism and I wondered what wishes would soon be fulfilled.

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