To her, they are sunflowers. Bright yellow, scattered across the lawn this week.
“Dandelions” I correct absently.
“But they don’t look like lions.” She insists. “They look like the sun. See?!” She holds it up, pointing out the obvious. Seriously, mom. Why would they think they could be anything else. Grown-ups can be so dim sometimes.
We take it all for granted. To us, they are weeds, popping up uninvited in the yard after a rain. They do seem to have more to do with the sun than the etymological origin from French dent de lion, describing the toothy leaves. Today I am changing my perspective. She is the expert.
She gleefully collects the yellow flowers by the handful. Giving me and anyone else nearby a gift of a little thin bloom to hold. These flowers are fair game for the picking. No “Don’t Touch” for these ones. We welcome the collection. There is a plastic cup of expired “sunflowers” in her room that I am not allowed to throw out. Each one is special to her.
“I’m not sure what to wish for”, she says, holding the white fluffy transformed flower.
“How about a beautiful day tomorrow”, I suggest. She agrees, blowing the little seeds like snowflakes into the air. 
I pick one up too, closing my eyes and thinking. I wish I could stall time, keep her this precious for a little longer. My wish is granted. This moment is etched in my heart.
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