We walk past everyday. Two small fields of flowers growing on the hills on either side of the highway that cuts through the city. On the north side the flowers are usually closed, seemingly resting in the shadow of the highway. On the south side the daffodil blooms are open and reaching toward the morning sun.
We stopped at the south side one morning after dropping the girl at school. Would you like to see the flowers? I asked the boy. Ye-ah he said.
I pushed the stroller off the sidewalk and onto the grass. I unclipped him from the stroller and we started walking towards the flowers. The boy got to the first cluster of green, flowers that were too new to have opened yet, and stopped. Excited, he sat down and pointed to a small yellow flower right in front of him, hiding almost, in the grass. A dandelion.
Do you want to see the daffodils? I asked, sweeping my arm toward the dozens of flowers stretching up the hill. Ye-ah he said. He stood up and walked along the edge of the field of daffodils until he came to another dandelion. Da! he exclaimed, happy to have found it.
I followed him as he continued to walk just beyond the field of flowers until we came to the sidewalk. There, nestled against the cement wall of the highway, we found a cluster of dandelions. The boy stopped and marveled at them all. I picked one for him and he clutched it in his hand as we walked away.