I admire dandelions. They are always dying, being killed and poisoned but supplanted. And they are always popping up again, unwanted, scorned, overshadowed by the pretty boys and girls. They are tough little suckers, and I admire their determination to be dandelions, even when it seems the rest of the earth is telling them a different story. Perhaps in another reality, the dandelions are the beautiful flowers, and the beloved flowers the weeds.