I remember when I was little. Going behind the little tin shed in my backyard, and seeing how many dandelions I could pick up and fit in the pockets of my over-sized sun dress. I remember the smell of the fresh spring grass that hadn't been mowed since last fall. I still know the feel of the soft yellow pedals in March, and come May; the seeds floating away in humid gusts of air. I still remember wishing that June would never arrive to take the flowers away but it always did, and eventually the dandelion girl learned to stay with the flowers and was left behind somewhere in spring. I get to see her once a year but she can never stay longer than it takes to make a wish.