The Prettiness of Dandelion Clocks

 

I have spent time and money on lethal concoctions for the plethora of dandelions on the lawn, and while withering them down to magenta shreds, could not help admiring their persistance, and their egg-yolk (free-range) yellow, shunting itself up day after day, everywhere;  of course borne by and born from dandelion seeds.. . but out today walking on the edge of the newly planted field I stopped by a half blown clock and saw how delicate it was.

Almost impossile to paint, by me at any rate.  The tall bank which I made a canvas of last summer, creating a background of abstract stem patterns, then painting the names of the flowers I had seen there over the top – this bank, in part at least,  is being carved out by machinery, which is also cutting into the land at the far side of the field.  Fair enough, of course.  Only doing on a large scale what I was doing attacking the dandelions on the lawn.  But here at least a small homage to the plant, and its life force:

and its ubiquity, and its prettiness in dispersion and decay, and its toughness in coming back, over and over, at its appointed hour: