I can remember as a young child picking dandelions to make a wish. Eyes tightly shut, face all smooshy and distorted to the point of my eyelids disappearing beneath my lashes; the wishes I had were life altering, or at least in my budding heart they were. One after the other, I would blow those dandelion seeds until the perching of my lips caused my face to start to tingle. The more I picked, the harder I would blow in the expectation of my hearts desires to birth right there in that moment. I cannot remember the specifics of my many wishes. I can only recall the warm summers my tiny hands would pluck those dandelions in the hopes of one, if not all, of my wishes would show thems...