She stood at my front door, all three feet and 7 inches of her, my granddaughter. On her face was a smile and in her hand was a yellow dandelion bloom.
Here, Opa, I got you a flower. I accepted the gift with the pomp and circumstance such an offering deserved.
Yes, any other day that same yellow bloom would have served as an unwelcome reminder that weeds were overrunning my lawn. But right then that dandelion plucking was an an invaluable expression of love.
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