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Dandelion Wishes

I went outside in a sweatshirt and jeans and I thought to myself, damn, could it be spring?

But more than the expected changing of the seasons, I have reasons to want a new beginning. It’s not about the birds singing or the cool breeze stinging and I couldn’t care less about pollen jettisoning from the plants now in bloom but I do care if it’s spring.

See, rebirth isn’t just for nature and after three hundred and sixty-five days of near constant shadow how could I not want the world to start again? Am I not within my own human wishes to want to be able to once again give hugs and kisses? Am I not allowed to reminisce on the things I’ve been missing and to want them to begin again?

Not at all, my friend. And I’m sure you’re in my boat. Of course, it only kind of floats, and I’m fooling myself if I think warmer weather means anything gets better (except maybe my mood) you can’t end a pandemic by wearing a sweater or going on a walk on a crisp afternoon – my desire for normal-a-cy is a self-contained fallacy; I know we aren’t out of the woods but hot damn do I wish we were.

I will sit in my basement until the end of time and the destruction of the earth if it means less people die from a disease we could have stopped in its tracks with any real preparation. I will go to bat for the safety of a nation that has proved that it doesn’t care if I live or die – I will abandon my life and all social encounters until I’m confident our floundering leadership has done what it can to end this.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t still pick dandelions from my backyard and makes wishes on their seeds they’re ushered to the breeze.


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